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MARRIED LIFE 

OR 

THE TRUE ROMANCE 


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BY 


MAY EDGINTON 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1920, 

By small, MAYNAKD & COMPANY 

(INCOBPOEATED) 




MAV 1 3 1920 


©CI.A570092 


IN ADMIRATION 

TO 

A COMPLETELY SUCCESSFUL 
HUSBAND 





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1 » 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Anticipation i 

II Irrevocable 17 

III Beautiful 23 

IV Dreams 33 

V Housekeeping 41 

VI Discipline 53 

VII Disillusion 74 

VIII Baby 80 

IX Problems 88 

X Recrimination 97 

XI The Banged Door 104 

XII Behind the Veil 120 

VIII ‘‘The Very Devil’’ 133 

XIV Drifting 145 

XV Surrender 154 

XVI Isolation 170 

XVII Revival 199 

XVIII Intrigue 221 

XIX Another Wooing 232 

XX Separation 243 

XXI Home-Coming 254 

XXH Plain Dealing 275 

XXHI Indifference 292 

XXIV Fool’s Cap 303 

XXV Recompense 31 1 

XXVI Comprehension 325 



MARRIED LIFE 

OR THE TRUE ROMANCE 


CHAPTER I 

ANTICIPATION 

^^IVe been round all the sales/’ said Marie, hunting 
and hunting. My feet are tired! But Tve got a lovely 
lot of things. Look! All this washing ribbon, a penny 
a yard. And these caps — aren’t they the last word ? 
Julia, aren’t they ducks? I thought I’d have my little caps 
all alike, flesh-pink tulle.” 

When’ll you wear them? ” asked Julia hardily. 

‘‘When do other people wear them?” retorted Marie, 
rather confused. 

“ Have you ever worn things like this?” 

“ Well,” said Marie, “ perhaps not. But I’ve been sav- 
ing up two years for it, haven’t I? And if a girl can’t 
have pretty things in her trousseau, when can she have 
them ? ” 

Julia sighed and looked. There was a little clutch at 
her heart, but she went on sturdily: 

“ All you girls going to be married ! I don’t know 
what you expect! I know what you’ll get. You seem 
to think a husband’s a cross between Romeo and a fairy 


MARRIED LIFE 


2 

godmother. Well, you'll find it’s different. You all 
imagine, when you say good-bye to your typewriter, 
or the showroom, or whatever line you’re in, to marry 
on an income not so very much bigger than your own, 
that you’re going to live in a palace and be waited upon 
ever afterwards. You’ll have to get up early and cook 
Osborn’s breakfast, shan’t you, before he goes out? 
And make the beds and sweep and dust? And you're 
buying pink tulle caps as if you were going to breakfast 
in bed every day! ” 

A little housework’s nothing! A girl can wear pretty 
things when she’s married, I suppose? ” 

Oh, she can,” 

‘‘ She ought to. A man has a right to expect ” 

^‘You’ll find a man expects everything he has a right 
to, and a hundred per cent, more.” 

Osborn is very different from most men.” 

Julia smiled, stood up, and pressed her hands over her 
hips to settle her skirt smoothly; she had an air of aban- 
doning the talk as useless. Her eyes were tired and her 
mouth drooped. 

It isn’t as though you knew such a great deal about 
men, dear,” Marie added. 

I don’t want to,” said Julia. 

‘‘ Surely, you must like Osborn ? ” 

‘‘ What does it matter whether I do or don’t, since you 
do?” 

I can’t think how anyone can fail to like Osborn.” 

Of course you can’t.” 

“ Even you must own he’s the best-tempered boy liv- 
ing.” 

‘‘ I shan’t own anything of the kind till you’ve been 
married three months, and he’s had some bad dinners. 


ANTICIPATION 


3 

and late breakfasts, and has got a bit sick of the butcher’s 
bill. Then we’ll see.” 

Little things like these can’t matter between people 
who really love each other. You don’t understand.” 

It’s just these little things that take the edge off.” 

Marie’s mother looked in and smiled to see her girl 
fingering her pretty things. 

"" Aren’t you two nearly ready to leave the inspection and 
come to tea? ” 

"‘Julia doesn’t like my caps, mum.” 

“Yes, I do,” said Julia; “all I’m asking, Mrs. xAmber, 
is, when is she going to wear them ? ” 

Marie’s mother came in and sat down and thought. 

“ Ah,” she said, shaking her head and looking pinched 
about the lips, “ I don’t know. You modern girls buy 
all these extraordinary things. You ape rich women; but 
you’ll never be able to pay the everlasting cleaners’ bills 
for those caps.” 

“ She’ll soon give up wearing them, Mrs. Amber.” 

“ I’m sure I shan’t,” Marie denied. 

“ When I was a girl,” said Mrs. Amber, smoothing her 
lap reminiscently, “ I remember I wanted a grand trous- 
seau. But girls lived at home more in those days; they 
didn’t go out typing and what not, earning money for 
themselves. So I couldn’t buy what I wanted and my 
dear mother had too much sense to buy it for me. I had 
strong, useful things, twelve of everything, and they’ve 
lasted to this day. However, Marie thinks differently and 
she has earned the money to act differently, so let her 
be happy in her own way while she can.” 

“ Won’t she be happy when she’s married?” Julia asked, 
while Marie angrily hid her treasures away in tissue 
paper. 


4 


MARRIED LIFE 


I hope so/’ said Mrs. Amber; '' Fm sure I hope so. 
But things are all so different when you’re married. You 
girls had better come to tea.” 

Julia linked her arm strongly in Marie’s as they followed 
the elderly woman out. ‘‘ Marie, love,” she whispered, 
'' I’m a grouser. You know I wish you all the luck in the 
world and more. You know I do?” 

I have it,” said Marie, smiling. And I hope you’ll 
have it, too, before long.” 

On the sitting-room table tea was spread; the room was 
red in the firelight ; and the flat was so high up in the block 
that the street noises scarcely ascended to it. The girls 
sat down on the hearthrug, and Mrs. Amber seated herself 
before her tea tray and flicked away a tear. 

‘‘ A week to-day,” she said, '' I shall be the loneliest old 
thing in London. I shall be all by myself in this flat when 
Marie’s gone.” 

There were five cups and saucers on the tray, and 
in a moment the door-bell rang, and Marie sprang 
up to answer it. That’s Osborn ! ” she cried in a 
flutter. 

She returned demurely between two young men, one 
of them holding her hand captive. 

Osborn had brought his friend Desmond Rokeby to 
talk over details of the great event next week. He 
kissed Mrs. Amber on the cheek, and turned to Julia 
with a certain diffidence. Miss Winter,” he said, with 
a nervous laugh, I’ve brought Rokeby. You’ve met 
him? Rokeby, Miss Winter’s going to be Marie’s 
bridesmaid, you know, and you’re going to be mine, 
so. ...” 

The little joke was received with laughter by Mrs. 
Amber, Marie and Desmond; Julia only smiled and Rokeby 


ANTICCPATION 


S 

thought, What a dour young female ! What a cold 
douche ! What a perishing mistake ! ” 

He sat down beside her on the chesterfield; the couch 
was small and Julia, close beside him, cold and hard as 
a rock. He turned from a glance at her profile to con- 
template the bride-elect, and saw in her all that the 
modern young man wishes to find in a girl, the sparkle 
of spirit, yet the feminine softness; a frou-frou of tem- 
perament as well as of frills; a face of childlike clarity 
set with two gay eyes; hair dressed to tempt and cajole; 
a little figure of thin frailty that gave her a beautiful 
delicacy of appearance; little, modish, manicured 
hands. 

She had such pretty arts; she fluttered about small 
domestic duties with a delight dainty to see. She set a 
man imagining how desirable it would be to build a 
nest for this delicate dear bird, and take her to it, and 
live deliciously ever afterwards. This is what Osborn 

Kerr imagined while — like Rokeby — he watched her. 
He had never seen her other than pretty and dainty, 

than happy and gay; he could not conceive of her other- 
wise. He had not the faintest doubt of being able to 
keep her so, in that nest which he had built for two on 

the other side of town. Whenever it was possible, 

in the teacup passing, he tried to touch her hand; he 
longed for her to look at him; he wanted .her all to 
himself. 

A week seemed over-long to wait. 

Mrs. Amber watched him with a resigned and kindly 
eye. She was sighing a little, kindly and resignedly, in 
her mind, and thinking how alike men were in their court- 
ing. And presently, while Julia and Desmond conversed 
with a formal hostility on the chesterfield, and the lovers 


6 


\ 

MARRIBIL LIFE 

snatched brief moments for communication in lovers’ code, 
she said : 

'' Osborn, another present came to-day ; it’s in the dining- 
room; Marie ought to show it to you.” 

Will you, Marie?” asked the young man, while his 
heart leapt, and the pulses in his head seemed singing like 
larks on a summer morning. 

‘‘ Would you care to see it? ” she replied, with a studied 
sedateness which Osborn found unutterably sweet, 
and which did not in the least deceive the watching 
mother. 

And in a moment the two were alone, it seemed in an- 
other world. This new world was compassed by the walls 
of the slip of an apartment called the dining-room, but 
which was kitchen as well, for there were no maids in 
the flat. The top of the oak dresser had been cleared 
of its bits of blue china and pewter to make way for the 
array of wedding gifts, and they were presented bravely. 
Perhaps among the display was the last received of which 
Mrs. Amber spoke, but whether it was, or was not, neither 
Marie nor Osborn cared. 

They were alone. 

There had pressed upon them, hard and perpetually, 
during the eighteen months of their engagement, the 
many difficulties with which opportunity is cautiously 
guarded by its custodians. They met in restaurants, 
in parks, and in the homes of either, and seldom could 
they be alone; and because they were superior people, 
not of the class which loves unashamedly in the public 
places if it has nowhere else to love, they restrained 
themselves. It was a long and hard probation, lightened 
sometimes, some rare and precious times, by such 
moments as now occurred. As soon as the kitchen- 


ANTICIPATION 


7 

dining-room door closed behind them like the portals of 
sanctuary, Osborn held out his arms and Marie went to 
them. She rested there while Osborn kissed her with hard, 
devouring kisses which made her murmur little pleased 
protests. 

All the while she was thinking, A week to-day ! Her 
eyes travelled to the clock. At six o’clock, a week this 
afternoon, I shall be Mrs. Kerr. We shall be at the hotel, 
unpacking.’’ 

Not very long now,” said Osborn between his kisses. 

Soon we’ll be alone as much as we like. We’ll be able 
to shut our own door on everybody. Won’t it be price- 
less ? ” 

Marie thought it would. She fingered his coat 
lapels with her modish hands, and smiled with down- 
cast eyelashes. In happy procession her dreams 
paraded by. She flitted a glance up at Osborn’s face for 
a moment and looked down again. He was good-look- 
ing; he was the best-looking man she knew; his clothes 
were so good ; his voice was so charming ; he had no mean 
streak like some men ; he was all gold. He was gener- 
ous. Even while he had been spending all his bank bal- 
ance, and more, on that nest for her at the other side of 
town, it had been delightful to be taken out by him to 
the nicest restaurants, hear chic dinners and good wines 
ordered with a thrilling lavishness. Many girls must envy 
her. 

A lot of fellows will envy me,” Osborn murmured even 
while Marie thought her thoughts. 

She protested again with soft words and the pro- 
cession of dreams went by. The little home — how 
charming it would be ! The chintz that matched her 
two best trousseau frocks, the solidity and polish of her 


8 


MARRIED LIFE 


dining-room chairs, the white paint and pale spring 
colours of her sitting-room, how ravishing it all was! 
The conveniences of the kitchen, the latest household ap- 
paratus, would they not make the keeping of the perfect 
flat a sort of toy occupation for a pretty girl’s few serious 
moments? In spite of Julia, all would be easy and sweet. 
In a kimono and one of those pink caps one could cook 
a breakfast without soiling one’s fingers. Osborn would 
like to see his wife look beautiful behind the coffee- 
pot. She would manage splendidly. The income, of 
course, would seem small to some women, muddleheads, 
but she could manage. She could make the most darling 
clothes, bake cakes like a confectioner’s. Osborn would 
be surprised. 

She must have a pink pinafore, a smocked one. 

What would it be like, the first few days together? 

Come and sit down,” Osborn begged, and he drew 
her to the one big chair, into which they both squeezed. 

I love you,” he said, oh, I do love you ! And we can 
trust old Rokeby to look after your mother and Julia. 
What a terror the girl is ! ” 

“ She hates men,” said Marie, with a pouting mouth. 

“ Then they will hate her and I don’t wonder,” the young 
man replied scornfully. 

Don’t let us talk about Julia.” 

No, let’s talk about us. I bought the clock, 
darling.” 

The clock! Did they knock down the price?” 

‘‘ No, they didn’t,” said Osborn, '' but you wanted it 
and that was good enough for me.” 

Her eyes sparkled. You shouldn’t be extravagant on 
my account.” 

“Let me kiss you,” said Osborn, “that’s all I want. 


ANTICIPATION 9 

You liked the old clock, and it will look ripping in the 
hall, won’t it?” 

‘‘ We shall be all oak now.” 

Say you’re pleased, then, you beautiful.” 

I am. I did want that clock. A grandfather clock — 
I don’t know — there’s something about it.” 

''As for the price, sweetheart, why bother? It’ll 
only add a few more instalments to the whole bally 
lump. It will be all right. I’ll get a rise soon — 
married man, you know ! Responsibilities, you know ! 
Expenses ! ” 

" Mother’s starting us with every kind of saucepan and 
broom and brush you can think of.” 

"Bless her!” 

" Osborn, it will be an awf’ly smart flat.” 

" It will, with you in it.” 

" No, but really. Everyone will admire it. I mean 
everyone to admire. We’ll have some little dinner-parties, 
won’t we ? ” 

" Will we. Cook? ” 

" I shall make the sweets beforehand, and we’ll 
have chafing-dish or casserole things. That sort of 
dinner. It’s quite smart, Osborn.* And dessert’s easy. 
Julia’s giving us finger bowls, tip-top ones — real 
cut-glass.” 

" Bless her!” 

" We’re starting awf’ly well, Osborn.” 

" Do you think I don’t know that? We love each other; 
nothing ever goes wrong when people love each other. 
You’ll be glad enough to give up the office, too, won't 
you?” 

Won’t I!” 

" I know you will. I hate to have you in a City office, 


10 MARRIED LIFE 

with any bounder staring at you. When you’re Mrs. Kerr 
only I can stare.” 

I like your confidence! ” 

'' But I shall make up for everyone. I shall stare all 
the time.” 

Shall you want to go to the club every evening? ” 

I shan’t ever want to go to the club.” 

Although Marie had known what the answer would 
be — or she would not have asked the question — it made 
her very happy. It was delightful to hear only what 
one wanted to hear; to see only what one wanted to see. 
Life appeared as a graceful spectacle, a sort of orderly 
carnival refined to taste. There would, of course, be 
the big thrill in it — Osborn. It would be wonderful to 
have him coming home to her successful little dinners every 
evening. People didn’t want a great deal, after all ; 
all the discontented, puling, peevish, wanting people one 
met must be great fools; they had made their beds and 
made them wrong; the great thing, the simple secret, was 
to make them right. A husband and wife must pull to- 
gether, in everything. Pulling together would be sheer 

joy. 

Osborn,” she said, ‘‘ how well we understand each 
other, don’t we? ” 

I should think we do,” whispered the young man. 

Few married people seem really happy.” 

‘"They must manage life badly, mustn’t they?” 

“ I remember mother and father ; mother likes the idea 
of my getting married, but they used often to be nagging 
about something. Expenses, I think.” 

“ All that I have will be yours, you love,” said Osborn, 
with profound tenderness. 

“ But I shan’t ask for it,” said Marie, with a flash 


ANTICIPATION 


II 


of intuition. You don't know how careful I can be. 
It won't cost you much more than it does now; less, 
perhaps, because you won't always be dining at the 
club." 

'' But you'll come into town and lunch with me very 
often, shan't you, dearest?" 

Nearly every day." 

Hush!" 

Osborn got out of the chair and sat on its arm; Marie 
remained alone in the cushioned depths, looking flushed 
and brilliant; and Mrs. Amber came in slowly. 

Marie, I want to show Julia your dress; or would you 
like to show it yourself?" 

Is it the dress?" Osborn asked, looking down on the 
top of Marie's shining head. 

Mrs. Amber sighed and smiled and the bride-elect sat 
up, sparkling. 

I'll come, mother." 

‘‘ Let me come, too," said Osborn. 

I'll bring it into the sitting-room and let everyone see 
it, shall I, Marie?" her mother asked hastily. 

She hurried away and Marie followed her to the bed- 
room, while Osborn stood in the doorway, looking in at 
the two eager women about their joyous errand. He put 
his hands in his pockets and smiled. It was pleasant to 
be involved in the bustle about the precious thing they 
were unwrapping from swathes of tissue paper. “ Be 
careful, dear," the elder woman kept saying, there's a 
pin here." Or Don't hurry, or you'll have the pleats 
out of place." And Marie's hands trembled over their 
task. When all the paper was removed, Mrs. Amber said 
importantly, Now just lift it up; give it to me like that; 
I'll carry it in," but Marie cried: ''No, I will/’ and she 


12 


MARRIED LIFE 


threw the gown over her shoulder till her head emerged 
as from the froth of sea waves, and ran into the sitting- 
room with it. 

Mrs. Amber's eyes were moist with pride. It's a 
beautiful dress," she said to Osborn, who had turned 
eagerly after his girl; "‘I want her to look sweet. Here, 
wouldn’t you like to take something? Here's the shoes; 
I've got the stockings. Wouldn’t you like to carry the 
shoes ? " 

Marie was spreading out the gown on the chesterfield 
from which Julia and Desmond had risen to make room 
for it. Mrs. Amber laid the silk stockings reverently near 
and Osborn dangled his burden, saying gaily : And here 

are Mrs. Kerr’s slippers." 

Rokeby stood back, observing. ‘‘ It's all out of my line," 
he said, ‘‘ but don’t think I'm not respectful ; I am. 
What's more. I'm fairly dazzled. I think I’ll have to 
get married." 

^‘You might do worse, old man," replied Osborn joy- 
fully. 

Rokeby lighted another cigarette. He looked around 
the room and at the people in it. He had been familiar 
with many such interiors and situations, being the kind 
of man who officiated at weddings but never in the prin- 
cipal part. Poor old Osborn ! " he thought. ‘‘ Another 
good man down and out!" He looked at the girl, decked 
by Art and Nature for her natural conquest. He did not 
wonder how long her radiance would endure ; he thought he 
knew. He entertained himself by tracing the likeness to 
her mother, and the mother's slimness had thickened, and 
her shoulders rounded; her eyes were tired, a little dour; 
they looked out without enthusiasm at the world, except 
when they rested upon her daughter. Then they became 


ANTICIPATION 


13 

rather like the eyes of Marie looking at her wedding 
gown. 

* * 4 ! 5tf 

Osborn took Marie's head between his hands, and kissed 
her eyes and mouth. That's for good night," he 
whispered; Rokeby and I are going home. You are the 
sweetest thing, and I shall dream of you all night. Prom- 
ise to dream of me." 

‘‘ It's a certainty." 

It is? " said the young man rapturously. ‘‘ I am simply 
too happy, then." 

‘‘ Let's go and look at the flat to-morrow." 

Have tea with me in town, darling, and I'll take 
you." 

Mrs. Amber and Rokeby came out into the hall. Rokeby 
wore a very patient air, and Marie's mother beamed with 
that soft and sorrowful pleasure which women have for 
such circumstances. 

Now say good night," said she softly, say good night. 
Good-bye, Mr. Rokeby, and we shall see you again a week 
to-day ? " 

A week to-day." 

The two men went out and down the stairs into the 
street. Rokeby had his air of good-humoured and invinci- 
ble patience and Osborn dreamed. 

I'll see you right home," said Rokeby. 

“ And you'll come in, and have a drink." 

‘‘ Thanks. Perhaps I will. Haven't you got a trousseau 
to show me?" 

Get out, you fool ! " 

What do chaps feel like, I wonder," said Rokeby, 
‘'when the day of judgment is so near?" 

“ I shan't tell you, you damned scoffer ! " 


14 


MARRIED LIFE 


Well, well,’’ said Rokeby, I’ve seen lots of nice fel- 
lows go under this same way. It always makes me very 
sorry. I do all I can in the way of preventive measures, 
but it’s never any good, and there’s no cure. Ab-so-lutely 
none. There’s no real luck in the business, either, as far 
as I’ve seen, though of course some are luckier than 
others.” 

Did you mention luck?” Osborn exclaimed, from his 
dream. Don’t you think I’m lucky ? I say, Desmond, 
old thing, don’t you think I’m one of the most astonish- 
ingly lucky fellows on God’s earth?” 

'' You ought to know.” 

Oh, come off that silly pedestal of pretence. Cynicism’s 
rotten. Marriage is the only life.” 

' Never for me! ’ ” Rokeby quoted Julia. 

''Awful girl!” said Osborn, referring to her briefly. 
"’Orrid female. What?” 

" Very handsome,” said Rokeby. 

" Handsome ! I’ve never seen it. She’s not to be com- 
pared to Marie, anyway. You haven’t answered my ques- 
tion. Don’t you think I’m lucky ? ” 

" Yes, you are,” replied Rokeby sincerely, turning to 
look at him, " for any man to be as happy as you seem 
to be even for five minutes is a great big slice of luck to 
be remembered.” 

" Marie’s a wonderful girl. She can do absolutely any- 
thing, I believe. It seems incredible that a girl with 
hands like hers can cook and sew, but she can. Isn’t it 
a wonder ? ” ^ < 

" It sounds ripping.” 

They walked on in silence, Osborn back up in his clouds. 
At last he awaked to say: 

Well, here we are. You’ll come in? ” 


ANTICIPATION 


15 


Shall I?’^ 

Do. I shan’t have so many more evenings of ” 

Freedom ” 

— Of loneliness, confound you! Come in!” 

Rokeby followed him into his rooms, on the second floor. 
A good fire was burning, but they were just bachelor rooms 
full of hired — and cheap — furniture. As Osborn cast 
oflf his overcoat and took Rokeby’s, he glanced around 
expressively. 

‘‘ You should see the flat. You will see it soon. All 
Marie’s arrangement, and absolutely charming.” 

Thanks awfully. I’ll be your first caller.” 

Well, don’t forget it. What’ll you have?” 

‘‘ Whiskey, please.” 

So’ll I.” 

Osborn gave Desmond one of the two armchairs by the 
fire, and took the other himself. Another silence fell, 
during which Rokeby saw Osborn smiling secretly and 
involuntarily to himself as he had seen other men smile. 
The man was uplifted; his mind soared in heaven, while 
his body dwelt in a hired plush chair in the sitting-room 
of furnished lodgings. Rokeby took his drink, contented 
not to interrupt; he watched Osborn, and saw the light 
play over his face, and the thoughts full of beauty come 
and go. At length, following the direction of some thought, 
again it was Osborn who broke the mutual quiet, exclaim- 
ing: 

I’ve never shown you her latest portrait ! ” 

Let’s look. I’d love to.” 

The lover rose, opened the drawer of a writing-table, 
and took out a photograph, a very modern affair, of 
most artistic mounting. He handed it jealously to 
Desmond and was silent while the other man looked. 


MARRIED LIFE 


t6 

The girl’s face, wondrously young and untroubled, 
frail, angelic, rose from a slender neck and shoulders 
swathed in a light gauze cloud. Her gay eyes gazed 
straight out. Rokeby looked longer than he knew, very 
thoughtfully, and Osborn put his hand upon the portrait, 
pulled it away as jealously as he had given it, and said: 
They’ve almost done her justice for once.” 

Top-hole, old man,” Rokeby replied sympathetically. 


CHAPTER II 


IRREVOCABLE 

When Osborn dressed for his wedding he felt in what 
he called first-class form. He thought great things of 
life; life had been amazingly decent to him throughout. 
It had never struck him any untoward blow. The death 
of his parents had been sadness, certainly, but it was a 
natural calamity, the kind every sane man expected sooner 
or later and braced himself for. His mother had left 
him a very little money, and his father had left him a 
very little money; small as the sum total was, it gave a 
man the comfortable impression of having private 
means. He paid the first instalments on the dream-flat's 
furniture with it, and there was some left still, to take 
Marie and him away on a fine honey-moon, and to 
brighten their first year with many jollities. His salary 
was all right for a fellow of his age. Marie was not 
far wrong when she said that they were starting awfully 
well." 

Osborn sang: 

And — when — I — tell — them, 

And Pm certainly going to tell them, 

That Pm the man whose wife you're 
’ one day going to be, 

They'll never believe me " 

17 


i8 


MARRIED LIFE 


That latest thing in revue songs fitted the case to a 
fraction. He was the luckiest man in the whole great round 
world. 

Osborn was pleased with his reflection in the glass. For 
his wedding he had bought his first morning-coat and silk 
hat. He had been as excited as a girl. He had a new 
dress-suit, too, and a dinner-jacket from the best tailor 
in town, ready packed for travelling. He had been finicking 
over his coloured shirts, handkerchiefs, and socks; a set 
of mauve, a set of blue, a set of grey; the brown set with 
the striped shirt; they were all awFly smart. Marie was 
so dainty, she liked a man to be smart, too. All he wanted 
was to please her. 

Rokeby came early, as quiet and lacklustre as ever. 
He sat down in the obvious lodging-house bedroom, 
lighted a cigarette and looked at Osborn without a 
smile. He prepared himself to be bored and amazed; 
weddings, tiresome as they were, always amazed him. 
And he was prepared, too, for a settled insanity in Osborn 
until 

I wonder how long he'll be ? Rokeby thought. 

Fve finished packing,’' said Osborn, clapping his old 
brushes together; the new ones lay among the new suits. 
‘‘ It’s time we started, almost, isn’t it? ” 

Not by an hour,” Rokeby answered, consulting a wrist 
watch. Have you breakfasted ? ” 

Not yet.” 

You’d better, hadn’t you? ” 

Osborn was concerned with the set of the new coat over 
his fine shoulders. 

Breakfast was on the table when I came through,” 
added Rokeby. 

^‘Was it?” replied Osborn absently. 


IRREVOCABLE 


19 

Rokeby took his friend’s arm, piloted him with 
patient firmness into the sitting-room, and pulled out a 
chair. 

Osborn ate and drank spasmodically. Between the 
spasms he hummed under his breath : 


And — when — I — > tell — them, 

And I’m certainly going to tell them, 

That I’m the man whose wife you’re 
one day going to be. 

They’ll never believe me •” 

Rokeby smoked several cigarettes. 

"‘How long’ll it take us to get to the church?” Osborn 
asked presently, with his eye on the clock. 

“ Ten minutes, about. We’ll walk.” 

“ Desmond, I say, I wouldn’t like to be late.” 

“ I’ll look after that. I’ve escorted a good many fellows 
to the tumbril.” 

“ Desmond, that nonsense of yours gets boring.” 

“All right! Sorry.” 

“ Let’s start,” said Osborn. 

So they started on their short walk. The pale gold sun 
of a splendid crisp morning hailed them and the streets 
were bright. Already, though they arrived early at the 
church, several pews were full of whispering guests who 
turned and looked and smiled, with nods that beckoned, 
at the two young men. 

“ What’ll we do ? ” Osborn whispered. 

“ Hide,” said Rokeby. 

They hid in a cold, stony little place which Rokeby said 
was a vestry, and there they waited while interminable 
minutes drifted by. Osborn fell into a dream from which 


20 


MARRIED LIFE 


he was only fully roused by finding himself paraded side 
by side at the chancel steps with a dazzling apparition, 
robed in white clouds, veiled and wfeathed. She carried 
a great bouquet. He stole a look at her entrancing profile 
and thought that never had she looked so lovely. She 
had a flush on her cheeks, her gay eyes were serious, 
and her little bare left hand, when, under whispered in- 
structions, he took it, startled him by being tremulous 
and cold as ice. He pressed it and felt tremendously pro- 
tective. 

An irrevocable Act had taken place without fuss or 
difficulty, or any abnormal signs and wonders ; the 
gold circle was on Marie’s finger and they were 
married. For a moment or two, while they knelt and 
a strange clergyman was addressing them, Osborn was 
surprised at the ease, the speed and simplicity with 
which two people gave each other their lives. He 
did not know what else he had expected, but how 
simple it all was! This was their day of days; their 
wedding. He stole another look at Marie and found her 
rapt, calm. 

He began to be annoyed with the presence of the clergy- 
man, of Desmond, and Julia, who waited disapprovingly 
upon the bride, of Marie’s mother and the small horde 
of friends and relations; he began to think, If only it 
was over and I had her to myself ! In another hour, surely, 
wedl be away.” 

They had chosen one of the most fashionable seaside 
resorts as an idyllic honeymoon setting. The journey was 
not long, only long enough to enjoy the amenities of luxuri- 
ous travelling. Rokeby had seen to the tea-basket and the 


IRREVOCABLE 


21 


foot-warmers, as he had to the magazines. Marie repeated 
what she had said to Julia: 

‘‘Oh, isn’t it nice, getting married!” 

“ Being married is nicer,” said Osborn ardently. “ Fll 
come and sit beside you. Let’s take off your hat. Now, 
put your head on my shoulder. Isn’t it jolly? I want 
to tell you how beautiful you looked in church. I was 
half scared.” 

“ So was I at first.” 

“But you’re not now? You’re not scared with me?” 

“ No — no,” said Marie with bated breath. 

Osborn smiled. Lm going to make you very 
happy. You shall be the happiest girl in town. You’re 
going to have absolutely all you want. But first, before 
we go back to town, there’s our honeymoon, the best 
holiday of our lives. That’s joyful to think of, isn’t it, 
darling?” 

“ It’s lovely ! ” 

“ Glad you think so, too, Mrs. Kerr.” 

“ Osborn, now tell me how my frock looked.” 

“I couldn’t!’' he cried in some awe. He sighed as if 
at a beautiful memory. 

“Ah!” said Marie, satisfied, “you liked it?” 

She lay against his shoulder supremely content. The 
winter landscape, which had lost its morning sun, was 
rushing by them and it looked cold. But inside the 
honeymoon carriage all was warm, love-lit and glowing. 
There was no dusk. Marie reviewed the day in her light, 
clear mind, and it had been very good. Hers had been a 
wedding such as she had always wanted. Osborn had 
looked so fine. She reviewed the details so carefully 
thought out and arranged for by herself and her mother. 
With the unthinking selfishness of a young gay girl, she 


22 


MARRIED LIFE 


discounted the strain on the mother’s purse and heart. 
The favours had been exactly the right thing; the cake 
was good ; the little rooms hadn’t seemed at all bad ; 
Aunt Toppy’s new gown was an unexpected concession 
to the occasion; Mrs. Amber had been really almost 
distinguished ; the country cousins hadn’t looked too 
dreadfully rural. People hadn’t been stiff, or awkward, 
or dull. As for Mr. Rokeby — that was a very graceful 
speech he made. He was rather a gifted man; worth know- 
ing. 

But Osborn had very nice friends. 

With the agility of woman, her mind jumped ahead to 
those little dinner-parties. Soup one prepared well before- 
hand; a chicken, en casserole, . . . 

Perhaps Osborn saw the abstraction of her mind and 
was jealous of it; at the moment she must think of nothing 
save him, as he could think of nothing but her. He put 
his hand under her chin, to lift her dreamy face, and he 
kissed her lips possessively. 

“ Here,” he demanded, against them, what are you 
thinking about? We’re not going to think of anything 
or anyone but just ourselves. We’re going to live en- 
tirely in the next glorious fortnight, for a whole fort- 
night. Have you any objection to that programme, Mrs. 
Kerr?” 

‘‘ No, no,” said Marie sighing, ‘‘ no, no! It’s beautiful.” 


CHAPTER III 


BEAUTIFUL 

The young Kerrs gave themselves a fine time; an amaz- 
ing time. A dozen times a day they used to tell each other 
with a solemn delight how amazing it all was. When 
they awoke in the mornings, in a sleeping apartment far 
more splendid than any they could ever sanely hope — 
not that they were sane — to rent for themselves, when 
an interested if blase e chambermaid entered with early tea, 
finding Marie in one of the pink caps and a pink matinee 
over a miraculously frail nightdress, with Osborn hope- 
lessly surprised and admiring, they used to say to each 
other, while the bride dispensed the tea: 

Isn’t it all nicef Did you ever imagine anything 
could be so nice ? ” 

When they descended to breakfast, very fresh and 
spruce, under the eyes of such servants as they could never 
expect to hire themselves, they looked at each other across 
the table for two, and touched each other’s foot under 
it and asked : Doesn’t it seem extraordinary to be break- 
fasting together like this?” 

And when one of the cars from the hotel garage was 
ordered round to take them for a run, and they snuggled 
side by side on well-sprung cushions such as they would 
probably never ride upon again, they held hands and 
exclaimed under their breath: This is fine, isn’t it? 

23 


24 


MARRIED LIFE 


I wish this could last for ever! Some day, when our ship 
comes in, wedl have this make of car/' 

And when they walked the length of the pier together, 
two well-clad and well-looking young people, they would 
gaze out to sea with the same vision, see the infinite pros- 
pects of the horizon and say profoundly: '‘We're out at 
last on the big voyage. Didn't our engagement seem end- 
less ? But now — we're off ! " 

For dinner, in the great dining-room, with the orchestra 
playing dimly in the adjacent Palm Court, Mrs. Osborn 
Kerr would put on the ineffable wedding gown, and all 
the other guests and the servants, with experienced eyes, 
would know it for what it was; and Mr. Osborn Kerr 
wore the dinner jacket from the best tailor in town, and 
after they had progressed a little with their wine — they 
had a half-bottle every night; what would the bill be? 
— they would look into each other's eyes of wonder 
and murmur: "I always knew we'd have a beautiful 
honeymoon; but I never imagined it could be so beautiful 
as this." 

Later, much later, when the evening's delights had gone 
by in soft procession, they went to other delights. Os- 
born brushed Marie's hair with the tortoise shell-back 
brushes he had given her for a wedding gift, and com- 
pared it with the Golden Fleece, the wealth of Sheba, the 
dust of stars, till she was arrogant with the homage of 
man and he was drunk with love of her. 

They had their great wild happy moment to which every 
human being has the right, and no one and nothing robbed 
them of it. It flowed to its close like a summer's day, 
and the sun set upon it with great promise of a like to- 
morrow. 

But although the most darling dolly home waited 


BEAUTIFUL 


25 

for them in a suburb of the great city where Osborn was 
to work away his young life like other men, although 
each saw and recognised the promise of the sunset, they 
were sad at leaving the palace which, for so short a time, 
they had made-believe was theirs. A reason was present 
in the mind of each, though, an irrefutable, hard-and- 
fast reason, why the stay could not be prolonged, even 
though Osborn might beg, with success, for another 
week's holiday. Each knew what the now mutual purse 
held; each, day by day, had privately been adding the 
price of the half-bottle, and the hire of the car, to the 
sum of everything inclusive." Each had, of necessity, 
a hard young head. 

So they went home very punctually. 

The hall-porter at the flats knew how newly married 
they were. So there was a smile upon the face of the 
tiger and fires burning in Number Thirty; and he car- 
ried up the luggage with a kind alacrity; for newly mar- 
ried people were his prey. They thanked him profusely, 
touched by his native charm, and they gave him five shill- 
ings. 

They sat down and looked at each other. 

I think it is lovely to be at home," said Marie. 

There's a comfort about one's own place," Osborn 
answered, that you don't get anywhere else." 

The hall-porter had even wound up the clocks, which 
Mrs. Amber and Julia had brought, among other wed- 
ding presents, a day or two before, and now four strokes 
sounded from a silvery-voiced pet of a timepiece on the 
mantelshelf. The owners looked at it, arrested and 
pleased. 

'' It is really the prettiest clock I have ever seen/' s^id 
Marie, 


26 


MARRIED LIFE 


I like the tone/’ said Osborn, “ I can’t bear a harsh 
clock. Darling, that’s four. You want tea. I’ll get it.” 

We’ll both get it.” 

But you’re tired with travelling, pretty cat. You’ll 
just sit there and I’ll take your boots off and unpack your 
slippers ; and I’ll make your tea.” 

Marie let Osborn do all this, and he enjoyed his ac- 
tivity for her sake as much as she enjoyed her inactivity. 
He unpinned her hat, took off her coat as a nurse removes 
a child’s coat, kneeled down to unlace her boots, kissed 
each slim instep, and carried all the things neatly away 
to their bedroom. Joyfully he unlocked the suit-case 
where he knew her slippers reposed, for had he not packed 
them himself, for her, that morning? He returned to the 
sitting-room and put them on. 

“Mrs. Osborn Kerr at home!” he cried, standing to 
look down upon her. 

“ I do want my tea 1 ” said Marie. 

“ I’ll get it now, darling. You sit still. I adore wait- 
ing upon you,” said Osborn, hurrying away. 

It was fine to be in his own place, with his own wife, 
with the world shut out and snubbed. As Osborn strode 
along the short and narrow corridor to the kitchen he ad- 
mired everything he saw. He confirmed his own good 
taste and Marie’s. The cream walls with black and white 
etchings — more wedding presents — upon them, and the 
strip of plain rose felt along the floor, could not be bet- 
tered. The kitchen was a spotless little place, up-to-date 
in the matter of cupboards. Everything was as up-to- 
date as he and Marie were. There was nothing equal 
to this fresh and modern comfort. 

Osborn looked in a cupboard and there he saw foods, 
enough to begin on, placed there by the thoughtful 


BEAUTIFUL 


27 

Mrs. Amber. Upon the kitchen table was a furnished tea- 
tray, the one woman knowing by instinct what the other 
woman would first require after her day's journey. Os- 
born lighted one of the jets of the gas-stove. What a 
neat stove! A kettle was handy. What a 'cute kettle! 
Aluminium, wasn't it? None of those common tin things. 
He filled the kettle from a tap which was a great improve- 
ment on any tap which he had ever seen. 

They were all his own. 

He cut bread-and-butter. 

He lighted the grill of the gas-stove and made toast. 
They had a handsome hot-toast dish. 

He hunted for sugary dainties such as Marie loved. 
Mrs. Amber had provided them in a tin. He arranged 
them with thought and care. 

Wasn't there any cream for his love? There was a 
tin of it. He emptied the cream out lavishly. 

All the while the petted bride rested by the fire in her 
little chintz room. Life had petted her, her employers 
had wanted to, and her mother had petted her, but never 
had she revelled in such supreme petting as the last fort- 
night's. 

Where did all these fierce, man-hating young women 
whom one met quite often get their ideas from? If only 
they knew, if only they could be told, could be forced to 
open their eyes and see, how perfect the right sort of mar- 
riage really was! 

Why, a man, poor dear, was abject! A girl had thing 
all her own way. Secretly and sweetly Marie smiled over 
Osborn's devotion. 

As she smiled, looking tender and lovely, in the fire- 
light, the door opened, and Osborn came in, perilously 
balancing his tray on one hand like a waiter. He meant 


28 


MARRIED LIFE 


her to laugh at his dexterity; he felt a first-class draw- 
ing-room comedian with his domestic attainments. Over 
one arm he had slung a brand-new teacloth. He intoned 
unctuously : 

I think I have all you want, madam.’’ 

Marie laughed as Osborn wanted her to do. 

Sit still,” he urged, I’ll arrange it all. The toast 
in the fender; the cloth on the table; the tray on the cloth. 
I understand everything. See, Mrs. Kerr? You won’t 
be the only know-all in this establishment.” 

Then he waited upon her; but he let her pour out the 
tea, because he wanted to see her do it, in her own home, 
for the first time. The situation thrilled both, after a 
fortnight of thrills. 

I wish Desmond could see us now ! ” said Osborn. 

I wish Julia could.” 

“ I think we should convert ’em.” 

Osborn sat on the hearthrug with shoulders against 
Marie’s knees. One of her hands stole round his neck and 
he held it there; he knew it was the softest small hand in 
the world; he had no misgivings about it and its tasks. 
The hour semed ineffably rosy. 

‘‘ And to-morrow,” he stated, ‘‘ I go back to work.” 

My poor boy,” said Marie, and I shan’t work any 
more.” 

‘‘ Thank heaven, no.” Osborn kissed the hand he 
held. 

This must always stay as soft as rose-leaves,” he said 
fondly. 

. You may count on my doing my^.best for it,” said 
Marie laughing, ‘‘I like nice hands. Mo woman can look 
well-dressed without nicely-kept hands. And that re- 
minds me, Osborn, I want some more cr^m for my 


BEAUTIFUL 29 

nails — cuticle-cream it’s called. Any good cuticle-cream 
will do.” 

He hastened to jot it down in a notebook. His first 
little commission for his wife! For Miss Amber there 
had been many, but this was almost epoch-making as being 
for Mrs. Osborn Kerr. I’ll get it in the dinner-hour, 
or on my way home. Can’t you think of anything else 
you want? ” 

I have everything else.” 

‘‘ You always shall have.” 

What was the kitchen like?” Marie asked. Was 
it tidy?” 

‘‘ It’s the smartest little place.” 

I’ll see it presently, when we wash-up.” 

You're not going to wash-up.” 

But, Osborn, I shall have to, often. Every day, you 
know.” 

He looked a trifle unhappy over this, knitting his 
brows. Of course, they had both known that the mo- 
ment would come when Marie would handle a dish- 
cloth in the best interests of Number Thirty, but it 
had seemed somewhat remote in those queer, for- 
gotten unmarried days more than a fortnight ago ; 
more than ever remote during the stay in an hotel 
palace. 

Yes, yes,” he said, I suppose so. I wish you needn’t, 
though.” 

“ I shan’t mind. A little housework is very simple ; 
people make such a fuss about it ; mother makes a horrible 
fuss. I shall always wear gloves.” 

That partly solves it/’ said Osborn nodding 
eagerly, rubber gloves for wet work, and housemaid’s 
gloves for dry, eh, dearest? You will always, won’t 


30 


MARRIED LIFE 


you? You must let me buy you all the gloves you 
want/’ 

‘‘ I have enough to begin with.” 

You are a thoughtful little genius.” 

"" We’ll have to cook dinner to-night.” 

‘‘ Oh, great work ! ” cried Osborn. 

I intend to run this flat in a thoroughly up-to-date 
way,” Marie explained; ^‘that’s the secret of a comfort- 
able household without help, you know — to. be entirely 
up-to-date.” 

The husband looked immensely impressed. 

I believe you,” he said. 

The clock struck five, and six, before they rose reluctantly. 
It would have been rather nice, of course, just to press a 
bell and give one’s orders, but. . . . 

On her way to the kitchen, Marie peeped into the bed- 
room. She switched up the light and looked it over, well 
pleased. Soon, when she had unpacked, her dressing- 
table would be furnished with all her pretty things, tor- 
toiseshell and silver, big glass powder-puff bowl, big 
glass bowl and spoon with scented salts for her bath, and 
the manicure set of super-luxury which a girl friend had 
given her on her marriage. She was really adorably 
equipped; she was starting so very, very well. Her glance 
fell upon the two beds, side by side, much-pillowed, pink- 
quilted. 

It would be rather nice if there was a housemaid to 
whip in every evening and turn down the sheets and lay 
out the night wear; but. . . . 

One can’t have everything. 

‘‘I think we’re quite all right here?” said Osborn over 
her shoulder, with pride in his voice. 

Isn’t it all adorable ? ” she exclaimed. 


BEAUTIFUL 


31 

You aren't going to put on The Frock, are you, dear 
girl, to do the cooking? " 

ril put it on afterwards, just before we dish up." 

"" ril dress, too," said Osborn. 

They proceeded to the kitchen and played with all their 
new toys there. There was not so much to do, after all, 
because Mrs. Amber, wise woman, had provided one of 
those ready-made but expensive little meals from the 
Stores. You just added this to the soup and heated it; 
you put that in a casserole dish and shoved it in the 
oven ; you whipped some cream ; and you made a savoury 
out of tinned things. You got out the plated vegetable 
dish which wasn't to be used except on great occasions 
— but this was one — and put the potatoes in it. You 
laid the table with every blessed silver thing you had, till 
it looked like a wedding-present show, as indeed it was. 
You lighted four candles and put rose shades over 
them, almost like those at the hotel palace. You ranged 
the dessert on the sideboard, for you must have 
dessert, to use those tiptop finger-bowls. In each fin- 
ger-bowl you floated a flower to match the table dec- 
orations. You placed the coffee apparatus — quite 
smart to make your own, you know — on the sideboard, 
too. 

Thus you had a swagger little dinner ; most delect- 
able. 

Then you put on the frock of frocks, and cooled 
your rather sorched hands with somebody else's 
gentlest kisses, the healing brand, and with some pink- 
ish powder as smooth as silk. Then somebody else 
put on his dinner-clothes and looked the finest man in 
the world. Then you dished up the hot part of the din- 
ner, and the creamy sweet was all ready at the other 


32 


MARRIED LIFE 


end of the table — so easy to arrange these things grace- 
fully without a parlourmaid, you know — and absolutely 
everything was accomplished. 

You sat down. 

Love was about and around you. 

What delicious soup by a clever wee cook ! 

Was there happiness at table? There was not greater 
happiness in heaven. 


CHAPTER IV 


DREAMS 

You’ll lie still, Mrs. Kerr,” said Osborn, when they 
awoke for the first time in their own flat, and I shall 
bring you a cup of tea.” 

But,” said the drowsy Marie, raising herself on an 
elbow, with all her shining hair — far prettier than any 
one of the pinky caps with which she loved to cover it — 
falling over her childish white shoulders, I must get up, 
Osborn, really I must; there’s breakfast to cook — and 
you mustn’t be late.” 

Lie still, Mrs. Kerr,” cried the young husband from 
the doorway. 

It was cold in the kitchen, very cold, when a fellow 
went out clad only in pyjamas, but Osborn briskly lighted 
that very superior gas-stove and put the super-kettle on. 
It was extraordinary how completely they were equipped; 
there was even an extra little set for morning tea for 
two. He made toast under the grill, with whose abilities 
he now felt really familiar, and furnished the tray. He 
was glad he could have everything so pretty and cosy 
for Marie. He would never be like some men he knew, 
utterly careless — to all appearance at least — as to how 
their wives fared. 

He had his cold tub quickly, while the kettle boiled, and 
lighted the geyser in the bathroom for Marie. What an 
awfully decent bathroom it was! 

33 


34 


MARRIED LIFE 


It was jolly sitting on the edge of Marie’s bed, drink- 
ing tea, and admiring her. Fellows who weren’t mar- 
ried never really knew how pretty a girl could look. Or 
at least they ought not. Her nightdress beat any mere 
suit or frock simply hollow. 

‘^Your bath’ll be ready when you are, pretty cat,” said 
Osborn, ‘‘and I’ve left the kettle on and made enough 
toast for breakfast.” 

And Julia inferred that husbands were mere brutes! 

Before Marie stepped out of bed, Osborn lighted 
the gas-fire in the bedroom; she mustn’t get cold. She 
went into the bathroom, and he began to shave, in 
cold water. As he shaved, he remembered — Great 
Scott ! 

The dining-room fire. The dining-room grate in 
ashes. 

Wiping the lather hastily from his face, Osborn has- 
tened out once more. It was all right for her to put a 
match to a gas-fire, but ashes and coals ... he hadn’t 
thought of it. 

He did the dining-room grate almost as successfully 
as a housemaid, cleared the debris, wondering where one 
put it, coaxed the fire to blaze and hurried back to 
dress. 

Marie dressed, too. 

“ I’m not going to be a breakfast-wrapper woman,” she 
said, as she slid into her garments. “ They’re sluts, aren’t 
they? I’m going to look as nice in the mornings as at any 
other part of the day.” 

“Bravo, kiddie!” he cried admiringly. 

There was still time in hand when both were dressed 
for the cooking of breakfast, but there seemed quite a 
lot of things to do yet; and they made rather a rush of 


DREAMS 


35 

them. One couldn’t sit down to a meal in a dusty room, 
so one had to sweep and dust it. And there was, un- 
doubtedly, some trick about eggs and bacon which one had 
yet to learn. 

How easily and quickly one would learn everything, 
though. Method was the thing. 

He asked her many times if she wouldn’t come into 
town and lunch, or have tea, and they would go 
home together; but she explained convincingly if mys- 
teriously : 

You see, dear, this first day. I’ll have to get straight/' 
and he went off alone. 

Marie fell to work in the greatest spirits. She was 
armoured with the rubber gloves and the housemaid’s 
gloves and a chic pinafore. As she worked she sang* Of 
course, a woman must have something to occupy a 
little of her day. Marie hastened about these tasks cheer- 
fully, and before she was through them her mother 
came. 

Her anxious look at her girl was dispelled by the bright- 
ness in the bride’s face. The small home was very snug; 
it maintained a high tone of comfort and elegance. Mrs. 
Amber sat down by the dining-room fire and drew off her 
gloves and said : 

Now tell me all about it, duck.” 

'‘All about what?” said Marie. 

" The honeymoon,” said Mrs. Amber. 

Marie looked at her mother as if she were mad. She 
smiled at the fire. "We had a lovely time,” she replied 
evasively. 

"And had that man lighted the fires yesterday? I 
couldn’t get round ” 

" It was all absolutely ready, thank you^ mother.” 


36 


MARRIED LIFE 


I brought the things the day before, except the cream. 
That I told him to get. And the flowers. I don’t see the 
flowers, love.” 

They are mostly in the drawing-room,” said Marie. 

I should like to see the drawing-room now it’s fin- 
ished,” said Mrs. Amber, rising eagerly. 

In the small room of pale hues she stood satisfied, al- 
most entranced. But she had those sad things to say 
which occur inevitably to elderly women of domestic avoca- 
tions. 

This white paint! You’ll have something to do, my 
child, keeping it clean. It marks so. I know that. Yes, 
it’s pretty, but this time next year I hope you won’t be 
sorry you had it. But of course, just for the two of 
you — well, you’ll both have to be careful. You’ll have 
to warn Osborn, my dear. Men need reminding so 
often.” 

Osborn is rather different from most men,” said Marie. 
‘‘ He is so very thoughtful ; he made me some tea early 
this morning, and did the dining-room grate, and lighted 
the geyser, and everything.” 

That won’t last, my dear,” replied Mrs. Amber, in a 
tone of quiet authority, but not lamenting. 

Osborn is not a man who changes, mother,” said 
Marie. 

‘‘ The chintz is a little light ; it will show marks al- 
most as much as the paint. I’m afraid, duck,” Mrs. 
Amber continued. I don’t know if it wouldn’t have been 
better to choose a darker ground. However, you can 
wash these covers at home. The frills are the only parts 
which you need to iron. I dare say you know that, 
dear? ” 

‘‘ Oh, well, I shan’t have to think of those things yet^ 


DREAMS 37- 

mother. I dare say Osborn would prefer me to send them 
to the cleaner’s, anyway.” 

People live more extravagantly now,” said Mrs. Amber. 

I should have done them at home.” 

Things change.” 

Mrs. Amber thought. ‘‘ In marriage,” she stated pres- 
ently, ‘‘someone has to make sacrifices.” 

“ Why should it be the woman ? ” 

“ Because the woman,” answered Mrs. Amber quoting 
someone she had once heard, “ is naturally selected for 
it.” 

“ Mother,” said Marie, “ don’t be tiresome.” 

Mrs. Amber went away reluctantly at three o’cock. She 
was a wise woman, and did not want to appear ubiquitous. 
At four, while Marie was unpacking the trunks they had 
brought yesterday, Julia came in. 

“ I begged off an hour earlier,” she stated. 

She looked quite moved, for Julia; she held Marie at 
arm’s length, stood off and surveyed her. “ Well,” she 
asked, “how are you?” 

“ Very well, and awf’ly happy.” 

Once more the kettle boiled on the gas-stove ; once more 
toast baked under the grill ; and the girls, one eager to 
tell, the other eager to listen, sat down on the hearthrug 
in the little dining-room to talk. 

“ What is marriage really like? ” said Julia incredulously. 

“ Haven’t you any fault to find ? Any fly in your oint- 
ment ? ” 

And Marie replied : “ Absolutely none.” 

“ It seems wonderful,” said Julia thoughtfully. 

“ It is wonderful,” cried Marie fervently; “ it is so won- 
derful that a girl can hardly believe it, Julia. But 
there it is. Marriage is the only life. I wish you’d 


MARRIED LIFE 


38 

believe me. All the old life seems so little and light and 
trivial and silly — that is, all of it which I can remember, 
for it seems nearly swept away. Mother came in this 
morning — if it hadn’t been for her I don’t think I’d have 
remembered anything at all of what ever happened to me 
before I was Osborn’s wife. It’s beginning all new, you 
see. It’s like starting on the best holiday you ever had 
in your life, which is going to last for ever. Try to 
imagine it.” 

‘‘Ah,” said Julia sourly, “a holiday! Holidays don't 
last for ever. You always come back to the day’s work 
and the old round.” 

“ You need a holiday yourself,” said Marie severely. 
“You’re so bitter. You want something to sweeten 
you.” 

Julia looked at Marie with a yearning softness un- 
expected in her. “ Well, haven’t I come to see 

you? You’re the sweetest thing I know. And it’s 

fine to see you so happy. As for your toast, it’s 
scrumptious.” 

“ Eat it quickly. I want to show you round before I 
begin to cook dinner.” 

“Fancy you cooking dinner!” said Julia, looking at 
Marie’s little, pampered hands. 

Marie had the first faint thrill of the heroine. 

“ I have to. We can’t afford a servant, you know, 
yet, though, when Osborn gets his rise, perhaps we 

shall.” 

“When will that be?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. This year — next year ” 

“Sometime — never,” said Julia. 

“ Osborn is very clever. He is so valuable to his 

firm; they wouldn’t lose him for anything, so they’ll 


DREAMS 


39 

have to give him a bigger salary. Brains like Osborn's 
don't go cheap." 

That's awf'ly nice," Julia replied. She looked down, 
and stroked the furs which she had bought for herself, and 
thought for a while. 

Show me the flat, there's a dear." 

Julia professed raptures over all she saw; kissed Marie, 
and was gone. Once more the bride, but alone this time, 
turned earnestly to work. 

The work seemed long and arduous and hot and nerve- 
racking, in spite of the amenities of the gas stove. She 
was so anxious to have all perfect. Once more the table 
was decked, the rose shades were placed over the candles, 
the sitting-room fire was lighted, the coffee apparatus was 
made ready. 

Marie rushed into The Frock, determined to keep up 
the standard they had set themselves, just two minutes be- 
fore Osborn arrived home. 

He kneeled to kiss her; they embraced rapturously. 

‘‘You've had a nice day?" he was anxious to 
know. 

“ Lovely. Mother came, and Julia, and I unpacked, 
and went to market, and did everything by myself " 

“ I'm glad you had plenty to amuse you, dear one." 

“‘Amuse'?" said Marie a trifle blankly. “I've been 
working ever so hard all day, really, Osborn." 

“ Work ? " he teased, smiling. “ You ‘ working ' ! " 
He kissed one little hand after the other. “ They couldn't," 
he mumbled over them. He seemed to take woman's great 
tasks lightly, as if he did not realise how serious, how 
enervating they were. 

“They're too pretty," he said. 

He began to talk, while he carved the chicken. 


40 


MARRIED LIFE 


It seemed a bit beastly to go back to work to-day 
after our good time. However, Tve all the more reason 
for going back to work now, haven't I, Mrs. Kerr? You’ll 
keep me up to the scratch, won’t you? Look! I’m carv- 
ing this bird like an old family man already. They were 
all asking me, down there, how I liked my honeymoon, 
and where we went and what we saw. A lot of them be- 
gan talking of the time they’d had. They all said it never 
lasts. People are fools, aren’t they?” 

"‘Not to make it last?” said Marie. “Yes, dear.” 

“ The attitude of the average man towards married life 
is sickening,” said Osborn, “ but I’m glad to think you'll 
never know anything about that, little girl.” 

Marie had a great feeling, as she looked under the candle 
shades, at Osborn, that she had found the king of men: 
lover, protector and knight. 

“ The attitude of the average woman towards married 
life is perfectly mean, Osborn. But you'll never know 
anything about that, either.” 

He knew, as he returned her look across the flowers, 
that he alone had achieved every man’s desire ; he had found 
the perfect mate; she who would never soil, nor age, nor 
weep, nor wound; the jewel-girl. 


CHAPTER V 


HOUSEKEEPING 

Marie had not thought of money in relation to herself 
and Osborn. He was known, in the set among which 
they both moved, and had met and loved and married, 
as a promising young fellow doing very well indeed, in 
a steady fashion, for his age. He had a salary, when 
they set up housekeeping in No. 30, of two hundred a 
year, with a very good rise indeed, a 25 per cent, rise, 
at the end of every five years. And he earned this 

and that now and again in odd channels, vaguely 
dubbed commission, or expenses. So, as a bachelor, 

Osborn could be almost splendid in their set, and as a 
husband he was resolved to be conscientious and care- 
ful. He had decided to give up his inexpensive club, 
and presently he meant to go into the matter of con- 
science and care, to give it a figure, but not so soon after 
the honeymoon as Marie drew him into it. It was 

all very comfortable saying to oneself : I must make some 
arrangement; all in good time,’’ buC the making of 

it left one a little cold, a little surprised, inclined to 
thought. 

When the Kerrs had been housekeeping for a week, 
the butcher and baker and the rest of the clan each 
dropped through the letter-slit in the front door of No. 
30 a very clean, spruce, new book, and the young wife 
gathered them up with eager trepidation. She had been 

41 


42 


MARRIED LIFE 


washing up, when the books arrived, all the dinner 
things left over from the night before, and the break- 
fast things of this morning, and from the kitchen she 
heard and recognised the blunt thump as each record of 
her housekeeping talents or failings dropped upon the 
hall floor. She rushed out, collected them, and retired 
to the dining-room hearthrug to meet her responsibili^ 
ties. 

She knew the sum total was all wrong; her mother’s 
tradesmen’s books never reached this figure. Yet people 
must eat, mustn’t they ? And wash with soap ? And 
have boot polish, and cleaning things, and candles for their 
dinner-table ? 

She asked herself, as so many young wives have done, 
'half-sorrowing, half-injured: '‘But what have we had? 
I’ve been awf’ly careful. I couldn’t have managed with 
less. I shall tell Osborn that it simply can’t be done for 
less ” 

She shut the books one by one. " But it must,” she 
said to herself. " Our income is ” 

She figured out, with pencil and paper and much dis- 
taste, their weekly income ; she compared it with the 
sum total of the tradesmen’s books, and to that one must 
add rent, and travel, and holidays and doctor’s ex- 
penses. 

Doctor’s expenses ? Cut that item out. One must never 
be ill, that’s all. 

She was glad she was going to meet Osborn that after- 
noon, and have tea with him in the West End; he was to 
beg off early specially for it. 

The flat seemed very silent. What a deserted place! 
It would be nice to go out and see someone, speak to some- 
one, 


HOUSEKEEPING 


43 


She went to lie down. 

She lay on her pink quilt, and began on that castle 
again. It was a fine place, a real family seat. While 
she built, she manicured her finger nails, looking at them 
critically. She had not begun to spoil them yet, thanks 
to the rubber gloves and the housemaid’s gloves with which 
Osborn had declared his eternal readiness to provide her. 
No one would feel it more deeply than Osborn if one of 
those slim fingers were burned or soiled or roughened 
ever so little. 

She had a few coppers only in her private purse, but 
they would carry her to Osborn, the legal fount of sup- 
ply. Out into a fine afternoon she stepped lightly, and 
the admiring hall porter watched her go. He was not 
so certain of her, though, for he had seen many young 
brides pass through his portals, in and out every day, 
ridden always by some small fretting care till they trembled 
at the sight of someone who was always looking, through 
their ageing clothes, at the ill-kept secrets of their pockets. 
He had entered in his memoranda that the Kerrs rented 
only a forty-pound flat. 

Heedless of the hall porter, Marie was away upon her 
joyous errand. She was very young, very healthy, and 
she looked ravishing. These things she knew, and they 
were enough. She went upon the top of an omnibus to 
the City street where was her rendezvous, but in her gala 
suit, her gala hat, and the furs which had nearly broken 
Mrs. Amber, she felt immensely superior to such humble 
mode of travel. 

Before she alighted from the omnibus she saw, from 
her altitude, Osborn striding along the street. He was 
not alone ; Desmond Rokeby was with him, listening 
to something which Osborn was telling him eagerly. Al- 


44 


MARRIED LIFE 


though Marie could not hear the words, she leaned over 
and looked down with delight upon her man whom she 
had chosen, so tall and smart, and fine, and young. She 
loved the turn of his head, the swing of his shoulders, 
his quick tread and eager look, as if all life were un- 
rolling before him like a map, and he could choose at 
his lordly will any one of the thousand roads upon it. 
Osborn was speaking of his wife; he was telling Rokeby 
about the splendour of the game he had learned to play. 
He was trying to tell Rokeby something of the wonders 
and beauties of one woman’s mind and heart; and 
he was telling him, too, of smaller things, of the com- 
forts and attractions of home, of the little kingdom 
behind a shut front door, of the angel’s food an angel 
cooked, and all her benevolences and graces and 
mercies. 

As he spoke, diffidently but glowingly, of these things, 
with his words rushing out, or halting over something 
that was not to be told, his attention was called to the 
omnibus top on which Marie sat; he did not know what 
called him, only that he was called, and there she was, 
leaning over, smiling between the soft rim of her furs 
and the down-drawn brim of her hat, with her big 
muff held up against her breast, cuddlingly. Osborn 
gasped and stood hat in hand, with his face turned up- 
wards. 

Have you seen a vision, man ? ” asked Rokeby. 

‘‘ There’s Marie,” Osborn answered. 

Marie descended daintily and crossed the street to the 
two men. Her hair gleamed and her feet were so light 
that she seemed to dance like a shaft of sunshine. At 
the moment she was a queen, as every pretty girl is at 
moments, with two subjects ready to obey. 


HOUSEKEEPING 


45 

Rokeby greeted her smilingly with admiration. Mrs. 
Kerr, Osborn talks of no one but you all day. He was 
in the midst of a song like Solomon's, only modernised, 
when that chariot of yours bore down upon him and cut 
it short. How are you? But I needn't ask. And when 
may I call ? " 

‘‘Oh, sometime, old man! We'll fix a day," said Os- 
born, signalling to a taxicab. He jumped in after his 
wife, and Rokeby went on his way good humouredly. 
“ The perfect deluded ass ! " he thought, “ and may the 
dear chap ever remain so I " 

Osborn explained to Marie. “ He needn't call yet. 
I'm hanged if he's going to come around the loveliest girl 
in town in the afternoons, when her lawful husband isn’t 
in; and I'm equally hanged if he's going to break in 
upon one of our very own evenings. So as all the 
evenings are our very own, there's nothing to be done 
about it, is there? What do you say, Mrs. Osborn 
Kerr?" 

“ We don't want anyone else," said Marie. 

“ You do look sweet," Osborn cried, “ I want all the 
world to see me with you. So where'll we go? Where's 
the place where all the world goes?" 

They knew it already very well. They drove there. 
Tea was half a crown a head and one tipped well. What 
matter? There were soft music, soft lights, pretty 
women, attentive men. Everyone looked rich, but per- 
haps everyone was not, any more than were Marie and 
Osborn. Perhaps everyone was only spending his 
pockets empty. The stage was well represented. The 
place had a know-all air blended with a chaste ex- 
clusiveness. It was a place where the best people were 
seen and others wanted and hoped to be seen. Here 


MARRIED LIFE 


46 

sat Marie and Osborn, shaded by a great palm group, 
drinking the choicest blend of tea, eating vague fragments, 
and looking into each other’s eyes. The worries of the 
morning slipped by; Marie forgot her tradesmen’s books, 
and Osborn the monotony of his daily toil. Life was 
soft, gracious, easy and elegant. They boug'ht a piece 
of it, a crumbly piece, with five shillings before they went 
away. 

‘‘ Taxi, sir? ” asked the commissionaire. 

‘‘ We’ll walk, thanks,” said Osborn. Walking was a 
sort of recreation not too dowdy. They went a little 
way on foot, then turned into a Tube station and 
travelled home. When they wormed their way down a 
crowded tube train compartment to two seats they were 
faced with the everyday aspect of life again. Tired 
people were going home ; business men had not yet 
shaken off the pressure of their affairs; business women 
looked rather driven; here and there women with chil- 
dren worried themselves with their responsibilities. One 
or two children were cross, and one or two babies 
cried. 

More than one woman looked at Marie jealously. 

They read the popular story ; the new-married girl, 
careless in her health and beauty; untouched by time or 
trouble; the worshipful young man, whose fervour was 
unworn by toil or fret. Every woman who looked at 
Marie and Osborn sitting side by side, with shoulders 
leaning slightly, unconsciously, towards each other, found 
in her heart some memory, or some empty ache for such 
fond glory. 

The Kerrs alighted at Hampstead and walked briskly, 
Osborn’s hand tucked under Marie’s arm, for it was 
dark, up the road to the flats. On their way they passed 


HOUSEKEEPING 


47 

rows and tiers of flats, all similar, save that one rep- 
resented more money, maybe, than another, all hold- 
ing or remembering sweet stories like theirs. But they 
did not think of that; they were in haste to reach No. 
30 Welham Mansions, the little heaven behind the closed 
front door. 

We had a jolly old afternoon, hadn't we?" said Os- 
born after dinner. I’ll take you there again." 

Can we afford it?" said Marie, with a droop to her 
mouth. 

^‘We will afford it. I’ll make lots of money for my 
Marie. We’ll have a dear old time!" 

“ I’ve been thinking, Osborn." 

A wretched exercise," he said gaily. Don’t you 
worry yourself, chicken. Just be happy. That’s all I 
ask." He grew the least degree pathetic. I can’t be 
here all day to look after you, and see that you’re happy; 
you’ll have to see to it yourself. Do that for me, will you? 
Make my girl awf’ly happy." 

I am happy, Osborn." 

“We do ourselves pretty well, don’t we, dear?" he said 
appreciatively. “ This is jolly snug. Now I’ll make the 
coffee. You sit still." 

Marie watched Osborn. She took her cup from him, 
and stirred her coffee into a whirlpool, and at last said: 

“ You see, Osborn, I want some money, please." 

“ All right, darling," he replied. “ I’ll give you a bit 
to go on with any time." 

His ready hand jingled in his trousers pocket. 

“ It’s for the tradesmen," said Marie ; “ I thought we’d 
pay every week." 

“That’s it," he enjoined, “be methodical. That’s 
splendid of you." 


MARRIED LIFE 


48 

And this week it comes to two pounds ten/’ 

Osborn’s hand ceased its jingling; he withdrew it and 
sat still, 

‘‘ Oh! . . he said in an altered voice, does it? Well, 
all right.” 

That doesn’t include the coal, or — or allow for gas,” 
murmured Marie. I expect the meter is ready for an- 
other half-crown.” 

Osborn looked at the sitting-room fire. 

Marie love,” he said, clearing his throat, I’m sorry, 
but — but will it always come to as much ? ” 

‘‘ I hope not. No, I’ll keep it down as much as I can, 

Osborn. But this week ” 

‘‘ Was just a trial trip,” said Osborn. 

You see, I told the tradespeople to send in weekly 
books and — and if I don’t pay, they’ll wonder.” 

Don’t fret yourself, kitten. I’ll give it to you. 
But ” 

Osborn put down his coffee cup in a final way. 

The fact is, Marie, you see — I don’t want you to think 

me mean ” 

‘‘Oh, Osborn!” 

“ No, but the fact is, it just happens I’m able to give 
it to you to-day, because I’ve got a little in the bank. 
But our honeymoon and the first instalments on the furni- 
ture and your engagement ring ran through most of it, 
and — and so there’s only a little left — about twenty 
pounds or so. My people lived on an annuity, you 
know; they only left me savings. Well, I thought it 
seemed snug to keep a balance of twenty pounds or so 
for emergencies, you know. But I’ll draw a cheque 
on it for you with pleasure. Two pounds ten? All 
right.” 


HOUSEKEEPING 


49 

But, Osborn,’’ said Marie, wide-eyed, can’t you give 
it to me out of your ” 

My screw doesn’t come in till the end of the week,” 
Osborn explained. He flushed and for the first time looked 
at her a little haughtily. 

I’m sorry,” she murmured ; ‘‘ perhaps we ought to make 
some arrangement and I’ll keep to it.” 

‘‘That’s it,” he said, still slightly uncomfortable; “now 
look here, dearie ” 

“ I’ll get my account book and put it down.” 

“Does she have an account book?” said Osborn more 
lightly. “ How knowing ! ” 

Marie brought a book, and opened it upon her knee, 
and sat, pencil poised. She was very earnest. “ How 
much ought we to spend ? ” 

“ You know what my screw is,” said Osborn, as if un- 
willing to particularise. 

Marie wrote at the top of her page, “ Two hundred 
pounds.” 

“ Forty pounds rent,” she wrote next. 

“ And my odd expenses, lunch and clothes, and so on,” 
said Osborn, “ have never been less than sixty or seventy 
pounds, you know.” 

She wrote slowly. “ Sixty to seventy pounds, expenses,” 
when he stopped her. 

“I’ll have to curtail that!” he exclaimed. 

In the ensuing silence both man and wife thought along 
the same track. It suddenly gave him a nasty jar, to 
hit up against the necessity of stopping those pleasant 
little spendings, those odd drinks, those superior smokes, 
the last word in colourings for shirts and ties. Of 
course, such stoppage was well worth while. Oh, im- 
mensely so ! 


MARRIED LIFE 


50 

And she had a lump in her throat. She thought : 
‘‘ He’ll find all this a burden. He’s had all he wants ; and 
so’ve I. I wish we were rich.” 

'' Look here, darling,” said Osborn. ‘‘ How much’ll 
food cost us ? I don’t know a great deal about these things, 
but if it’s any standard to take — well, my old landlady 
used to give me rooms and breakfasts and dinners for 
thirty bob a week. Jolly good breakfasts and dinners they 
were, too ! ” 

Marie murmured very slowly : ‘‘ I’m not your old land- 
lady.” She imaged her, a working drab, saving, pinch- 
ing, and making the best of all things. Compare Marie 
with Osborn’s old landlady! Besides,” she murmured 
on, there’s me, too, now.” 

Osborn nodded. Well,” he said, how much do you 
think?” 

‘‘ Thirty shillings for both of us per week,” said Marie, 
inclined to cry. That’s better than your old land- 
lady.” 

Osborn hastened to soothe her. '' Look here,” he pro- 
tested, don’t fuss over it, there’s a love. Very well. I’ll 
give you thirty bob a week, but that’s seventy-eight pounds 
a year. My hat! I say, can’t you squeeze the gas out 
of it?” 

‘‘I will get the gas out of it!” said Marie, with tight- 
ened lips. 

Great business! ” said Osborn cheering; put it down, 
darling.” 

So under the Rent; forty pounds,” she wrote, House- 
keeping, including gas, seventy-eight pounds.” 

That’s one hundred and eighteen pounds out of my 
two hundred,” said Osborn, knitting his brows and staring 
into the fire. 


HOUSEKEEPING 


51 


Coal ? ’’ whispered Marie, her pencil poised. 

Osborn’s stare at the fire took on a belligerent nature. 

I say! ” he exclaimed, ‘‘we can’t have two fires every 
day. It’s simply not to be thought of.” 

“ We’ll sit in the dining-room in the evenings.” 

“ Put down ‘ Coal, ten pounds,’ ” said Osborn grudg- 
ingly. 

When Marie had put it down, she cast a sorrowing 
look round her dear little room. She would hardly ever 
use it, except in summer. 

“ That’s close on a hundred and thirty pounds,” said 
Osborn. “ We’ll make allowance for that, but you’ll try 
to do on less, won’t you, darling?” 

“ I’ll try.” 

“ That leaves seventy pounds for my life insurance, and 
for my expenses and yours, Marie. A man ought to in- 
sure his life when he’s married; it’ll cost me fifteen pounds 
a year.” 

“ Oh, what a greedy world ! ” cried Marie, despairing 
tears running down her face. 

Osborn kissed them away, but remained much preoc- 
cupied. 

“ It leaves fifty-five pounds between us for my clothes 
and lunches, and travelling, and your pocket money.” 

“How about your commission, Osborn? Your ‘ex- 
tras’?” 

“ With luck they’ll pay for a decent holiday once a year 
or so.” 

Marie suddenly readjusted her scheme of life while 
she sat blindly gazing before her into that too-costly fire. 
“ Osborn,” she said quietly, “I — I shouldn’t think of 
wanting any of your fifty-five pounds. You’ll need it all; 


MARRIED LIFE 


52 

you must keep up appearances. Fll squeeze some pocket 
money out of the housekeeping.” 

Oh, my darling!” said Osborn gratefully, do you 
really think you could? I expect, though, there'll be a 
nice bit over, if you're careful, don't you? You won't 
want to spend ten pounds on coal, for example.” 

I intend to manage,'' Marie replied vigorously. 

And I'll often be able to give you a decent present out 
of my commission. I shan't let you go short.” 

Osborn, I mean to help you. We'll get on splendidly. 
You do love me, don't you?” 

‘‘ My darling, I adore you; and I know you’re the finest, 
bravest girl in the world. I would like to load you with 
everything beautiful under the sun, and some day I will. 
When I get a rise, you'll be the first to benefit. I'll 
make you a real pin-money allowance. Don't I long to 
do it?” 

Osborn, meanwhile, can I have this week's 
money?” 

Osborn wrote out a cheque for two pounds ten very 
bravely. The discussion had been a weighty one. As he 
handed it to her, he drew her down on his knee, and, hold- 
ing her tight, impressed her: ‘‘You won't let this 
happen again, in any circumstances, will you, dear 
girl?” 

“Never!” she promised fervently. 

So Marie began housekeeping in the way her mother 
began, and her grandmother, and those jealous tired women 
in the Tube; the old way of the labouring souls, the old 
way scarred with crow's feet and wrinkles, and rained on 
by tears. 


CHAPTER VI 


DISCIPLINE 

Marie meant always to be trim and neat and lovely, a 
feast for the eye of man. But when winter had settled 
upon town in a crescendo of cold, and when you thought 
twice before lighting that gas-fire which you had meant 
to dress by every morning, and when, too, Osborn be- 
gan to resume his normal habit of sleeping till the very 
last moment, why, you no longer gave yourself — or 
rather, Osborn no longer gave himself — the trouble of 
rising to make tea. Marie had much more to do than 
merely dress, and as soon as she had opened her sleepy 
eyes she sprang resolutely out into the grim cold that 
seemed so closely to surround her snug bed, and fell to work. 
She felt as if the toil of a lifetime lay behind her, by the 
time she and Osborn sat opposite to one another at their 
breakfast table, and yet, too, as if the toil of a lifetime 
lay before her. 

Marie took upon her shoulders most of the launder- 
ing. Osborn said '' Clever kid ’’ when he knew, but it 
did not impress him much ; his feeling about it was 
vague. Did he not work all day himself? All this fid- 
dling donkey-work with which women occupied them- 
selves at home — he dismissed it. Always, when he re- 
turned, by the dining-room fire, in an easy chair and a 
decent frock, sat Marie, sweet and leisured. It was 

53 


54 MARRIED LIFE 

evident that her household duties did not overcome 
her. 

And all day the flat was desolately quiet. How queer 
women’s lives were! They grew up, looking infantilely 
upon men, and reading about them in fairy tales. One 
day a pretty girl became engaged to one of them. What 
congratulations! What importance, delight! What pros- 
pects! What planning! What roses! The pretty girl 
then married one of them, the dearest and best of them, 
and began to wash dishes. Her heart, which had never 
been perplexed before, grew very perplexed. Her little 
purse, which had never been so very hungry before, now 
hungered for things, simple things, matinees, and sweets 
and blouses. She stayed all day in a flat, desolately quiet, 
waiting for one moment when the dearest and best came 
home. 

How queer women’s lives were ! 

When Osborn was going to dine with Rokeby at his 
club he told Marie about it just as she was stretching a 
reluctant foot out of her bed into the cold of a grey De- 
cember morning, and an extraordinary rebellion rose in 
her with sirocco-like fierceness. She got out of bed with- 
out replying, clutched at her dressing-gown and dragged 
it on, while Osborn’s drowsy voice continued, Desmond 
asked me, and I thought I would; he wasn’t sure if you’d 
mind — if you’d think it rather often. But I told him you 
weren’t that sort; I told him you were a sport. You’ll 
do something nice this evening, won’t you, darling ? 
What’ll you do?” 

What is something ' nice ’ ? ” said Marie, staring at 
her face, which looked wan and cold, in the glass. 


DISCIPLINE 


55 


I don't know," said Osborn. 

'‘Nor do I!" she cried angrily. “Life's just one 
slow, beastly grind." She ran out of the room to light 
the geyser, and tears were streaming down her face, and 
sobs rising one upon the other in her heart. She sank 
upon the one bathroom chair, leaned her head against 
the wall and wept helplessly. Her body was shaken 
with her crying; never in her life had she so cried 
before. She felt as if she must collapse under its 
violence. 

She thought : “ Osborn's going out to dinner, and I 

can mope and starve at home." 

With the sub-conscious dutifulness of woman she 
realised that her bath was ready; that she must hurry, 
that there was breakfast to make, and the dining-room 
to sweep, and . . . and . . . what a string of tragic drab- 
nesses ! Obeying this instinct of duty in her, she got, still 
sobbing, into the bath, and her tears fell like rain into the 
hot water. A man would have cried, “ Damn the bath ! 
Damn the breakfast! Damn the brooms and dusters! 
Scrap 'em all ! " And for the while he would straight- 
way have scrapped them and felt better. But Marie went 
miserably on, as her mother and her grandmother and 
all those tired women in the Tube had done times out 
of number, for the sisterhood of woman is a strange 
thing. 

Osborn met her as she was coming from her bath, quiet, 
subdued and pale. Rather, he had been standing outside 
the door, waiting and anxious. “ Darling," he said scared, 
“what is it? Tell me! Aren't you well? Has anything 
upset you? What can I do? " 

Marie left her dressing-gown in his detaining hands 
and, sobbing again, ran along the corridor to her bed- 


56 MARRIED LIFE 

room. She began to put her hair up feverishly with shak- 
ing hands. 

Osborn followed her quickly with the dressing-gown, 
beseeching: ''Do put it on! Do, Marie, do! You’ll get 
cold. It’s freezing.” 

" M-m-much you’d c-c-care,” she sobbed. 

" Oh, darling,” said Osborn, wrapping the dressing- 
gown and his arms tightly round her, " tell me ! What 
is the matter? What have I done? Aren’t you happy, 
dearest ? ” 

" Happy! ” she gasped. " Why should I be happy? ” 

‘‘ I-I — love you, dearest,” said Osborn in a tremulous 
voice. 

You g-go out, and every d-day it’s the same for me. 
All day I’m alone; and I loathe the work. Everything’s 
always the same.” 

" I wish I could give you a change, sweetheart,” said 
Osborn, terribly harassed. 

She hated herself because she could not be generous, 
but somehow she could find no generous words to 
speak. 

" Shall I stay with you this evening, Marie? ” 

" No. You’ve p-promised. And I’m not that sort; you 
t-t-told him so ! ” 

"Is that all that’s the matter, Marie? Because every- 
thing’s always the same ? ” 

" I’m so tired. And ragged, somehow.”* 

" Oh, Marie, I wish I could stay at home to-day 
and look after you. You’ll lie down and rest, won’t 
you?” 

" When I’ve finished all my charwoman’s work.” 

Osborn was silent, biting his lips; and presently Marie 
looked up, and seeing his face, drew it down and kissed 


DISCIPLINE 


57 

him, crying : ‘‘ Oh, Pm a beast ; forgive me ! But Pm 

so tired, and somehow so — so ragged/' 

Poor darling ! " 

'' You'd better go and bathe, Osborn. We're late as it 
is." 

So we are, by Jove! Look, I'll be awf'ly quick this 
morning, and come and help you. That’ll be some good, 
won’t it ? " 

She assented with sorrowful little sniffs, and he took 
his perplexities away into the bathroom. He was ter- 
ribly troubled, not seeing what was to be done. What 
could a man do? Women's work, women's lives, were 
the same all the world over — married women's, that is. 
One couldn't do more than give them the best home one 
could, and come back to it like a good boy early every 
evening, and love them very much. If one were only 
rich! How money helped everything! Osborn cursed 
his meagre pockets as heartily as Marie had cried over 
them. 

Osborn hastened into his clothes and went to the 
kitchen. Bacon was sizzling gently over a low flame, 
coffee and toast were made; nothing remained for him 
to do, but, very wishful to show his good intentions, he 
stood over the bacon as if controlling its destinies. Marie 
found him there, quiet and thoughtful, when she came 
in. 

It's all ready," she observed in a subdued voice. 

‘‘Bravo, kiddie!" said Osborn, “I see it is. You're 
magnificent." 

A little while ago this praise would have made her glow 
sweetly, but now it tasted sour in her mouth; she did not 
particularly wish to be a magnificent cook-general, a mag- 
nificent charwoman. All her nerves felt stretched as if 


MARRIED LIFE 


58 

they must snap and she must scream. Tremblingly she 
set a tray on the table. 

Don’t give me any, please.” 

'"‘Darling! No breakfast! ” 

" ril have some toast. Oh, don’t, don’t worry me ! I’ve 
told you I feel simply on edge.” 

Osborn ate his bacon with a feeling that somehow 
he ought not; but he was hungry. He ate Marie’s por- 
tion, too, half apologetically. There was one thing, 
however, which, very sensibly, he omitted to do; he had 
the tact not to open the morning paper. There are 
some things which a woman will not stand, and one is 
the sight of an abstracted man behind a paper, letting 
his crumbs fall down his waistcoat, when she feels 
nervy. 

""Lovely morning, dearest,” said Osborn; ""you ought 
to go for a brisk walk.” 

"" Perhaps I will.” 

"" You do look awf’ly seedy.” 

"" I feel it.” 

"" I hope your mother will come round* this morning. 
She’d do the marketing for you, or something, wouldn’t 
she?” 

"" Yes, Osborn, I’m sure she would.” 

Osborn helped himself to toast and tried to eat it quietly; 
he had some dumb, blind instinct which comes to men, 
that crunching would be vexatious. He handed butter and 
marmalade tenderly to his wife and carried his cup round 
to her for replenishment, instead of passing it. He did 
all he knew. 

The anticipation of Rokeby and that sanctuary, his 
club, invaded his mind agreeably. A club was a great 
institution. If he touched a good commission this year 


DISCIPLINE 


59 

— but no. Certainly not! He put the idea from 
him. 

He put a hand in his trousers pocket and jingled there. 
A thought had come to him, which comes to all men in 
moments of trial concerning women, moments calling for 
prompt treatment and nice judgment. 

A present! 

He could not afford it, but it must be done. What else 
could he do? He felt remarkably helpless. He felt about 
cautiously and intimately in his pocket, knowing with 
exactitude all that was there. It was not much. On 
Fridays he now banked half his weekly salary against such 
demands as rent, furniture instalments and so on. Thirty 
shillings he gave to Marie; ten he kept. This was Tues- 
day. 

He withdrew his hand with something in it — two 
half-crowns. He would lunch light for the next three 
days. 

‘‘ Darling,’’ he said, with a slight break in his voice, so 
anxious he was to propitiate the pale, pretty girl who 
brooded at him from the head of the table, ‘‘look here! 
Do something to please me. When I’m out on the spree 
to-night let me think of your having a good time too. 
Why not ring up Miss Winter and get her to go to the 
theatre with you? Here’s two seats.” 

A slight flush stole into Marie’s cheeks. 

“Oh, Osborn,” she said, “but ” 

“ What?” 

“ Can you afford it? ” 

“ Blow ‘ afford ’ ! ” said Osborn largely, placing the half- 
crowns before her, “ we must do absolutely anything to 
prevent you from getting wretched.” 

She took the money up, half hesitating. She read 


6o MARRIED LIFE 

the wistfulness in his face, but she felt rather wistful 
too. 

‘‘Thank you, Osborn,’’ she murmured; “it’ll be lovely. 
Julia’s sure to come. But, Osborn ” 

“ What?” 

“ Some evening you’ll take me yourself, won’t you?” 

“Rather!” 

“ Shall I save this till to-morrow ? ” 

“ No, no! ” he cried. “ To-day’s when you want a tonic, 
not to-morrow. Go and get your tonic, Mrs. Osborn. Go 
and enjoy yourself ! ” 

He was restored to content. 

“ I must go,” he said, jumping up. “ Let me kiss you. 
We’re friends, aren’t we, darling? You’ll try not to hate 
the work so very much? When I get my rise it will make 
a lot of difference.” 

Then they clung together, kissing and whispering, and 
the cream walls and the golden-brown curtains were as 
beautiful to them as ever. 

“ Be a happy girl ! ” he cried, before he shut the front 
door. 

“ I am ! ” she called back, and he was gone. 

She went down gaily, in spite of her weariness, and 
used the hall-porter’s telephone to ring up Julia. Miss 
Winter would come and was very pleased, thank you. 
Marie went upstairs again, the ascent making her breath- 
less. 

The stairs and the landings were grey stone, un- 
carpeted, for this was the cheapest block of flats in 
the road. Oh, money, money ! Accursed, lovable 
stuff ! 

Marie sat down, panting, in her kitchen. A mist 
rose before her eyes ; she shut them and took a long 


DISCIPLINE 6 1 

breath; her head was light and dizzy. She began to be 
afraid. 

An angel, in the guise of Mrs. Amber, knocked upon 
the front door. Marie dragged along the corridor, and 
could have wept once more for sheer relief at seeing so 
irreplaceable, so peculiarly comforting a person as her own 
mother upon the threshold. But she restrained herself with 
a great effort from the relief. 

^'Well, duck,'' said Mrs. Amber cheerfully, with that 
wise eye upon her girl's face, I was out and I just 
thought I'd run in and see how you were. You're not 
too busy for me, love? Ah, you've overdone it and you 
look very pale." 

She sat in Osborn's easychair in the dining-room. She 
was stout and solid, a comforting rock upon which the 
waves of trouble might fret and break in vain, for she had 
weathered her storms long ago. But Marie refrained from 
going to her and laying her head in her lap and crying like 
a little girl. She was twenty-five, married and worldly, 
with great things upon her shoulders. Instead of ‘going 
to that true rock of ages, the mother, for shelter she sat 
down opposite, composedly, in the companion chair, and 
answered : 

There's a good deal to do in a home." 

Ah, you've found that out?" said Mrs. Amber 
regretfully. We all find it out sooner or later. But 
a little domestic work shouldn't make a girl of your age 
look so pale and tired as you do. How do you feel, 
love?" 

‘‘ Ragged," said Marie, and — and awf'ly limp." 

A great question was crying in Mrs. Amber's heart, 
but she was too tactful to pursue it. Modern girls were 
not lightly to be comprehended; she knew well that she 


62 


MARRIED LIFE 


did not understand her own daughter, and young people 
kept their secrets just as long as they thought they 
would. 

'‘You ought to rest, my dear,'’ she said hesitatingly. 
" I should lie down on that nice couch of yours every 
day after lunch, if I were you. A few minutes make all 
the difference, I assure you." 

" I never used to rest," said Marie. 

Mrs. Amber continued her matronly diplomacy: 

"No, duck; but that was different. It's so differ- 


" What is, mother? " 

" When you're married, dear. You should rest a 
bit." 

" I don't know what you mean, mother," said Marie. 

" Just that, love," Mrs. Amber replied soothingly, " only 
that you should rest. It's wiser and it will make a great 
difference to you." 

" I can't think what you mean, mother. I don't see why 
being married should alter one." 

Mrs. Amber looked into the fire and said slowly: 

"Well, duck, it does. Doesn't it?" 

Now Marie was conscious of an overpowering irrita- 
tion. These old wives' tales ! These matronly saws ! 
How stupid they were! How meaningless, foundation- 
less and sickening! She did not reply to Mrs. Amber's 
question, but stirred restlessly in her chair, swinging her 
foot, and said : 

" Well, it's after twelve, and we may as well have some 
lunch. I'll just run " 

"No, love, you won't!'’ Mrs. Amber exclaimed, show- 
ing considerable vivacity. " I'm going to take you straight 
awajr to lie down on that nice couch, and I'H find the 


DISCIPLINE 63 

lunch myself, and wedl have it on a tray together. 
Now!’^ 

There isn’t a fire in the drawing-room.” 

'' ril soon put a match to it, dear.” 

Then we’ll let this fire out,” said Marie, after a 
pause. 

Mrs. Amber hesitated, too. 

'' It’s quite right to be careful,” she replied. 

‘‘ After all,” said Marie, her irritation breaking out, too 
rebellious for all bonds, I don’t want it, mother. I’ll 
only have to do the grate to-morrow; two grates instead 
of one. That’s all. Such is life!” 

Mrs. Amber looked into the fire. 

‘‘ I’ll tell you what,” said she slowly. You lie down on 
your bed. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. 
There’s a gas fire there, and we’ll have that.” 

There are such things as gas bills, too.” 

And a time to worry over them,” said Mrs. Amber 
tartly; but this isn’t the time. You’re going to be com- 
fortable, and I’m going to make you so. You’ll come 
along with me right now, my duck, and in five minutes 
you’ll say what a wise old woman you’ve got for a 
mother.” 

Suddenly Marie leaned upon her mother and obeyed. 
She was lying on her bed under the pink quilt, and Mrs. 
Amber had her hat and coat and walking-shoes off, and 
the gas fire began to purr, and a heavenly comfort visited 
her. She knew reluctantly that these matrons were hor- 
ribly wise women, after all. She looked into her mother’s 
eyes, and saw there the question which cried in her 
heart, but she could not read it. It was too old for 
her. 

Mrs, Amber said equably : 


MARRIED LIFE 


64 

Now ril run into the kitchen and find what I 
shall find, my dear. You’re not to trouble yourself 
to think and tell me what; I was housekeeping before 
you were born. And meanwhile, if I were you. I’d 
undo my frock and take off my corsets and be really 
comfortable. You be a good girl, dear, and do as 
you’re told just this once, to please your silly old 
mother.” 

Docilely Marie sat up, unhooked her trim skirt-band, 
and unfastened her corsets At once she felt lightened. 
How wise these dreadful matrons were! She did more; 
she cast her skirt and blouse aside with the corsets, and 
when Mrs. Amber returned she found her lying restfully 
under the eiderdown, untrammelled, in thin petticoat and 
camisole. 

‘^Eggs?” said Marie, craning her neck to look. 

They were for Osborn’s breakfast — two boiled eggs, 
mother.” 

‘'Well, they’re poached now, duck,” said Mrs. Amber; 
“ they’ve gone to glory. Let Osborn have bacon ; there’s 
half a dozen rashers in your larder.” 

“ He had bacon this morning.” 

“ Let him have it again,” said the comfortable lady. 

“ Julia’s coming to dinner to-night,” Marie confided to 
her mother. “ Osborn’s dining with Mr. Rokeby, but 
he’s sending us both to the theatre. Isn’t it kind of 
him? ” 

Mrs. Amber nodded smilingly. 

“ He hates me to be dull,” said Marie. 

Again Mrs. Amber nodded smilingly; she thought what 
a make-believe world these young brides lived in, and then 
she sighed. 

All that afternoon she tended Marie, and gave her 


DISCIPLINE 65 

tea, and fulfilled her offer of setting the dinner forward 
before she went away, with the inquiry still in her heart. 

Marie was better. 

She rose from her bed about six o'clock, pleased 
as a cat with the warm room, and set about the busi- 
ness of her toilet Sitting down to the dressing-table, 
she looked long and earnestly at her face ; the rest 
she had taken had plumped and coloured it again, but 
there was a something, a kind of frailty, a blue dark- 
ness under the eyes. Perhaps it made her look less 
pretty? She was inclined to fret over it a trifle. To 
counteract it she dressed her hair with a fluffy softness 
unusual to her trim style; she took immense pains over 
her finger-nails and put on her best high frock. She 
hurried over her preparations, having been reluctant to 
leave her bed till the last possible moment. Mrs. Amber 
had laid the dinner-table, but there were still things to 
do. 

Some day I shall keep an awf ly good parlour-maid," 
Marie promised herself. 

She went in to criticise and retouch her mother's pains- 
taking arrangements. She grew flushed and irritated over 
the cooking. 

''And a good cook," she added. What dreams!" 

Julia looked a good deal at Marie during dinner in 
the delusive light of the shaded candles, and at last she 
said: 

‘‘You're thinner. And there's something about you — 
I don't know what it is. You are almost fragile." 

“ I manage this flat entirely without help, you know," 
said Marie, looking round the speckless dining-room 
proudly. 

"That ought not to do it," replied Julia, dismissing do- 


66 MARRIED LIFE 

mestic work with a contemptuous wave of the hand. Are 
you worrying?’’ 

''Worrying?” Marie repeated. "What about?” 

" Oh, anything.” 

" I have nothing to worry over.” 

"Blessed woman!” replied Julia, diving into the freak 
pocket of an expensive garment bought with her own 
money. " May I begin to smoke ? ” 

" Let me get cigarettes,” said Marie, springing up 
for Osborn’s box, which lay on the mantelpiece behind 
her. 

" Always carry my own, thanks,” said Julia, brandish- 
ing the cigarette-case she had produced. 

The sudden movement she had made gave Marie a curious 
sensation; Julia and the room and the red fire swam around 
her; her brain was numb and dizzy; she staggered and 
caught at her chair-back. 

"Oh!” she gasped. "I feel so — so ” 

"What?” exclaimed the other girl, springing up. 

Marie sank into her chair. 

" I was so giddy — and faint, Julia.” 

Julia drew her chair close to Marie’s, put down 
her yet unlighted cigarette, and looked at her friend 
shrewdly. 

" Look here, kiddy,” she began, with a softness Marie 
had never heard in her voice before. Then she stopped 
and asked : " Where’s the brandy ? ” 

"There isn’t any,” said Marie in a far-away voice; 
" there’s only Osborn’s whisky, and that’s horrid. I’ll be 
all right soon. Make the coffee, dear, will you ? And make 
it strong.” 

Julia not only made the coffee strong, but she made it 
very quickly; she had a wonderfully quiet, efficient way of 


DISCIPLINE 67 

accomplishing things. The coffee stimulated Marie and 
steadied the erratic beating of her heart. 

That's better," she said. 

Then Julia was modern enough to ask without prelim- 
inary that question which had asked in Mrs. Amber's elderly 
heart all day. 

Marie, are you going to have a baby ? " 

Marie could not have been more confused and con- 
founded. 

I ! " she stammered. ‘‘ Have a baby! I never thought 
of such a thing 1 " 

‘Ht's not an unknown event," said Julia; it has been 
done before. Think!" 

Marie thought. 

Julia," she whispered, hushed, perhaps " 

‘'You must know — or you can make a good guess." 

Marie began to tremble. “ I've been feeling so 
simply awful; I couldn't think what was the matter with 
me, but I — I believe you may be right. I shouldn't be 
surprised " 

Julia drew at her cigarette savagely; tears were in her 
eyes ; something hurt her and she resented it. 

“ Shall you be pleased? " she asked. 

“ Pleased ? I — don't — know." 

“Will your husband be pleased?" 

“ I don't know." 

“ People seem to run about anyhow in the dark," said 
Julia thoughtfully. 

Marie blushed. “ Well, we'd never made any sort of 
plan." 

“ I think it would be lovely to have a baby," said Julia 
defiantly. 

The challenge called forth an answering thrill in Marie; 


68 MARRIED LIFE 

\ 

a force which she had not known she*'" possessed leapt to 
meet it; she felt warm and glowing, tremulously excited 
and happy. 

So do I ! ’’ she breathed. Oh, Julia, I wish I knew 
for certain. I must know.’’ 

Go and see a doctor,” said Julia; ''he’d tell you.” 

" When?” 

" When you like. I know one whose surgery hours are 
eight till nine-thirty.” 

" Oh, if I could only know before Osborn comes home 
to-night ! ” 

" Let’s go.” 

" Now?” 

" Now.” 

Marie’s mind flitted to its former anxieties of the purse, 
which she did not wish to reveal to Julia sitting there so 
well-dressed in the gown that she so easily had paid for. 
Theatre or doctor? Doctor or theatre? Which should 
it be? 

She glanced dissemblingly at the clock. 

" I don’t know if I’ve time. We ought to be starting 
to The Scarlet Pimpernel.’^ 

" Chuck the theatre,” said Julia. " I don’t mind. 
This is a far greater business. Come along; I’ll take 
you.” 

Light and glory flamed in Marie’s heart. 

" Don’t you really mind? ” 

" My dear kid, I wouldn’t let you go to the theatre to- 
night. You’ll come and see that doctor, and then sit here 
in your easychair and rest quietly.” 

Marie’s feet were no longer leaden as they carried her 
into her bedroom to fling on coat and hat She was con- 
sumed by a great wonder, Could it be? 


DISCIPLINE 69 

She counted all feer money hastily into her bag and 
rejoined Julia. They went out, walked to the end of the 
road and boarded a car, but it was Julia who paid the 
fares while Marie sat dreaming beside her. It was not far 
to the doctor^s door. 

; Marie did not know how to begin, but found the way 
in which doctors helped one was wonderful. In three 
minutes he had the story, and was twinkling at her with 
cheery interest, though as far as he was concerned it was 
the oldest, ordinariest story in the world, which invariably 
ended by calling him out of bed in the middle of some 
wet night, after a day of particular worry. 

He asked her all about herself, where she lived, if she 
got up early, if she was busy, if she frivolled, and arrived 
at a mental summary of her circumstances. The circum- 
stances were as old and ordinary as the story, but her 
pretty face and wavy hair, her childish form and dainty 
clothes, made him wish for a moment that she could have 
kept out of the struggle. 

He could not say to her: Well, if you feel very 

tired and faint in the mornings, breakfast in bed; if you 
feel walking too much for you at the moment, use your 
car ; tempt your appetite ; nourish yourself well. And 
later, when the spring comes, we must tell your husband 
to give you some nice week-ends at the sea.^' But, 
taking her hand and patting it kindly, he substituted 
this : '' Well, Mrs. Kerr, Tm glad to hear that you’ve 

plenty to occupy yourself ; it’s a great thing to keep 
busv, specially at these times. As a matter of fact, 
there’s no finer exercise than a little normal housework. 
And you must walk, too ; that walk to market in the 
mornings is just splendid. As for your appetite, you 
must try not to get faddy; it’s a woman’s duty to keep 


MARRIED LIFE 


70 

up her strength, you know. I congratulate you most 
heartily on the good news I have just been able to give 
you.’’ 

Thank you,” said Marie, frightened but exultant, ‘‘ and 
may I — what is the fee? ” 

Five shillings, please,” he replied, after a slight 
pause. 

Then Marie was out again in the waiting-room with 
Julia, to whom she nodded mysteriously, and whose hand 
she squeezed. The doctor escorted both girls to the door, 
and looked after them for a moment; but it was an ordi- 
nary story, and the world must go round. 

Julia and Marie walked all the way home, talking of 
what was going to happen next September. 

They sat for a long while on the hearthrug in the dining- 
room when they reached home, talking about next Sep- 
tember; and when at last Julia left, Marie still sat there 
hoping and planning, thinking of this perfect flat with a 
baby in it, and longing for Osborn’s return to share the 
unparalleled news. 

She had seen little, intimately, of babies; in the streets 
and parks she met them, and said : ‘‘ What sweets ! 

What precious things!” And she had thought more 
than once how beautiful it would be to own one, sitting 
in its well-built perambulator with the clean white lacy 
covers and cushions, and the starched nurse primly wheeling 
it. 

There would be knitting to do, too; endless shawls, 
swallowing up pounds of the best white wool; and fleecy 
boots and caps and vests. When the next housekeeping 
allowance was paid, some of it should be stealthily diverted 
to this delicious end. 

The clock struck eleven; for some while now Marie had 


DISCIPLINE 


71 

ceased to notice how musical was its sound, as compared 
with other people’s clocks, but to-night she noticed it anew. 
It was like little silver bells pealing; there ought to be 
birth-bells as well as wedding-bells. 

Osborn was late, but Marie waited up for him, un- 
tired. She mended the fire, for he might come iryicold, 
and they were not going to bed yet. No! They must 
sit and discuss next September. How would Osborn re- 
ceive the news? What did men really think about these 
things? It was impossible they could feel the full meas- 
ure of women’s gladness, but in part, surely, they shared 
it? 

At twelve Osborn came in, fresh and pink from the cold 
outside, with a hilarious eye, and a flavour of good whisky 
on his breath. He was in great spirits and could have 
ragged a judge. But as he took off coat and muffler in 
the hall, displaying himself in dinner clothes, there came 
creeping out to him from the dining-room, softly as a 
mouse, but with eyes bright as all the moon and stars, 
his wife. She had about her an air of lovely mystery, 
about which Osborn was still too jolly to concern him- 
self. But she looked so beautiful that he caught her to 
him, and kissed her many times. 

‘Wou ripping little kid!” he said fondly, ‘'have you 
waited up for me? Or have you only just got in?” 

“ I waited up for you, dear.” 

“ Is there a fire? ” asked Osborn. 

“ A good one.” 

They went into the dining-room and sat down, Osborn 
in his chair, she on the hearthrug beside him, and she 
let him tell his story first, so that afterwards all his at- 
tention should be rapt on hers. He said gaily : “ I’ve 

had a ripping evening. Desmond was in his very best 


72 


MARRIED LIFE 


form, and he’d got two more fellows there, and we were 
a jolly lot, I assure you, my kid. By Jove! don’t I wish 
I belonged to that club! I’ve half a mind to get Desmond 
to put me up. He would, like a shot. We had an awf’ly 
decent dinner; they give you some dinner at that club. We 
drank toasts; you’d like to hear about that, wouldn’t you? 
That old one, you know : ‘ Our sweethearts and wives ; 

and may they never meet ! ’ ” 

Osborn laughed. 

‘‘ I’ve had a nice evening, too,” said Marie, leaning against 
the caressing hand. 

That’s good,” said Osborn. '' Miss Winter came 
and you had dinner here, I suppose. What did you 
see? ” 

‘‘We didn’t go to the theatre.” 

“ Not go! ” said Osborn, “ how was that? You weren’t 
seedy again, were you, kid ? ” 

“ Rather,” Marie murmured, “ so Julia took me to a 
doctor instead.” 

“My dear!” Osborn cried. 

“ Osborn,” said Marie, looking up at him, “ we — we’re 
going to have a baby.” 

“ The deuce we are ! ” Osborn exclaimed abruptly, and 
he sat back and looked down at her sparkling face in- 
credulously. 

“You’re glad?” she asked. 

Osborn pulled himself sharply together. He said to 
Rokeby afterwards : “ I believe it’s the biggest shock of 

a chap’s life. Awful good news and all that, of course.” 
But now he was concerned only with Marie, that pretty 
frail thing so joyously taking upon her shoulders what 
seemed to him so vague and dreadful a burden, and for 
the moment he was aghast for her. 


DISCIPLINE 


73 


“Are you?’' he stammered. 

“ I think it’s lovely,” she murmured. 

“Then I’m glad,” said Osborn; “if you’re glad, I 
am, you dear, sweet, best girl. But tell me all the doctor 
said, angel, and just what we’re to do and everything.” 
“ We don’t do anything till next September.” 

“Is it to be next September?” 

“ Yes,” said Marie, trembling a little. 


CHAPTER VII 


DISILLUSION 

Osborn had to tell Desmond Rokeby ; he simply 
couldn’t help it. They met at a quick lunch counter, 
an unusual meeting, for Rokeby lunched almost in- 
variably at his club. As Osborn ate his sandwiches 
and drank his ale he was looking sideways at Rokeby 
all the time, and feeling, somehow, how futile he was, 
how worthless bachelors were to the world; and pres- 
ently, when the space around them had cleared, and 
the white-capped server had moved away, he almost 
whispered : 

I say, Desmond, there’s great news at my place.” 

Rokeby looked into Osborn’s eager face. 

I wonder,” said he, if I could give a guess.” 

I know you couldn’t, old chap,” said Osborn; "‘the 
surprise simply bowled me over.” 

Rokeby had already guessed right, but he had the tact 
and kindness not to say so; he had known men’s pleasure 
in the telling before. 

“ Are you going to tell me? ” he asked. 

“ Am I not, old man? ” said Osborn, looking at the colour 
of his ale with a kind of smiling remoteness. “ Well 
. . . this is it . . . how does one put it? . . . Well, here 
it is. Next September there’ll be three people instead of 
two at No. 30 Welham Mansions.” 

74 


, DISILLUSION 75 

By Jove!'' said Rokeby. '"You must be awf'ly 
pleased ! " 

" Simply off my head ! So's Marie." 

He did not bank his two pounds that week, but kept 
them in his pocket. They need not spend both, but one 
Marie must have. And when he went home that after- 
noon, having asked permission to leave early, for a family 
purpose, and when he put the usual 30s. into his wife's hand, 
he cried : 

" You’re coming out shopping, Mrs. Kerr. You’re com- 
ing out to buy yards and yards of whatever it is. And 
why mayn’t we do a little dinner as well? You’re to be 
kept cheerful." 

She had been feeling pathetic all day, and she was full 
of pleasure at this. She hugged Osborn and lavished on 
him all her peculiar pet endearments, and ran to change 
into her best suit and furs. They went out together, very 
happy, and town lay spread before them, as if for their 
delight. It was scarcely yet full dusk, the sky was like 
opals and the streets were just becoming grey, the lamps 
starring them. The cold was crisp, and women in short 
skirts, trim boots, and big furs stepped briskly, their faces 
rosy. Osborn had his hand under the arm of a woman 
as trimly shod, as nicely-furred as any they met, and, 
as well as being proud and thrilled with his new signi- 
ficance, he was proud of her. He liked men to glance 
away from the girls they escorted at Marie’s face; and 
he liked to think: "Yes, you admire her, don’t you? 
That little girl you’re with — you’re taking her out and 
spending your money on her and making an ass of your- 
self, and she don’t care tuppence for you. But this 
beautiful woman I’m taking out is my wife, and she loves 
me. 


76 


MARRIED LIFE 


Osborn was led, dazzled, into labyrinthine shops ; 
he stood with Marie before long counters, while she 
inspected fine fabrics and, drawing off her glove, felt 
them critically with her fine hand. He watched her 
eagerly and devotedly, as if he read the concentration 
of her thoughts, and he imagined the thoughts to be 
these : 

‘"Is this soft enough for him? Is this delicate enough 
for my baby's body? Nothing harsh shall touch my dar- 
ling ; he must have the best, and the best is not good enough 
for him. We will buy the most beautiful things in the 
world for my son." 

And she ordered the lengths in a voice which cooed; 
she bought lawn and flannel, and great skeins of wool, 
and lace fit for fairies; and she sought, as if trying to 
remember the persecution of the purse, for bargains in 
blue ribbon, but by that time Osborn was too exalted 
to permit bargaining. He, too, was saying within him- 
self : 

‘"Shan't my boy have the best? When he's little 
and weak shan't I win it for him? And when he's 
grown and strong, won't he win it for himself, by 
Jove! " 

He bought the blue ribbon. 

They had spent one of the two pounds, and there seemed 
very little for it, of those fine things fit for a baby; but 
Marie stopped short after the spending of that sum. "‘ It's 
enough to begin on," she urged ; "" when I've finished with 
that I'll get more." And she whispered, when the at- 
tendant's back was turned : "" I shall squeeze it out of the 

thirty shillings all right, Osborn. I shall put by every 
week." 

"" Then," Osborn replied in the same sotto voce, "" if you 


DISILLUSION 


77 

won’t spend more for your baby, you darling, you’ll be 
taken out to dinner, because I love you so; and you’re 
to have a good time and be happy. I’m to keep you 
cheerful.” 

They chose one of the smallest West End res- 
taurants, where they spent what Marie called a dream of 
an evening. Her languors evaporated in that subtle air, 
her eyes brightened, her cheeks glowed; she could face 
right into the teeth of the coming storm, and do no more 
than laugh at it. How good it was to be alive, and how 
alive she was! She had two lives. She was that most 
vital of all creatures, the expectant mother. She felt 
vaguely as if God had granted to her a great and new 
power. 

The next morning the sensation of power had 
vanished. She was only a tired and nervous girl with a 
nasty feeling of nausea on her tongue. Once more Os- 
born brought her tea, and she sipped it leaning back on 
her pillow; as she stretched out an arm for it she caught 
sight of her face in the glass and sank back again. It 
was so tired and fretted, and the freshness of her skin 
seemed lost. How she wished she need not get up ! 
She dreaded the day with its small and insistent exac- 
tions. 

She was conscious of a fierce irritation with petty 
things. 

Osborn could hardly eat breakfast himself when he saw 
how sick and sorry she was ; he watched her efforts to eat a 
piece of dry toast and tried to comfort. 

When I saw the doctor,” he said, he told 
me this feeling of yours would only last two or three 
months.” 

' Only ’ ! ” said Marie despairingly, ‘ only ’ ! ” She 


MARRIED LIFE 


78 

recalled Julia to. him faintly, when she exclaimed: I 

wonder how you men would like to feel sick and faint 
and ragged-out for ‘ only ^ three months ! ’’ 

He hung his head. 

Well, we can’t help it,” he pleaded, half guiltily. 

I know,” she whispered, with a sob in her throat, 
but don’t say " only.’ ” 

Osborn left home somewhat earlier than usual that morn- 
ing. That sort of half-guilty feeling made him glad to 
go. It wasn’t his fault, was it, that Nature had matters 
thus arranged? He agreed with his wife that it was bad 
management, but he couldn’t help it. He was glad that, as 
he left, she asked him to do something for her; glad that 
he was able to do it. 

When he had gone, Marie did a very wise thing, though 
he would have thought it a foolish one. She lay down 
and cried. She cried till she could cry no longer. She 
lay there some while after her tears had ceased, as if their 
fount had dried, and she adapted her outlook, as well as 
she was able, to these unforeseen, surprising and dismaying 
conditions. 

She was the victim of the pretty and glossy story- 
book, the sentimental play, and of a light education. 
None of these things had prepared her for the realities 
she was undergoing; the story-book ended glossily with 
the marriage and happy expectations of a wonder-struck 
young couple. In book and play the heavenly child simply 
happened; no one felt miserably sick, ferociously irritable, 
or despairingly weary because of its coming. There had 
been no part of her education which had warned her of 
natural contingencies. She now saw that for her bless- 
ing she must pay, and pay heavily maybe, with her 
body. 


DISILLUSION 


79 

She argued with herself a little fractiously on the escape 
of men. They had children without suffering; marriage 
without tears. Was it fair? Oh, was it in any sense equal 
or fair? 

The little clock struck 6.30. Osborn was due, and 
dinner not yet preparing. Marie ran to the kitchen. 
“Goodness!'' she said to herself, “it's endless! Life's 
nothing but getting meals. Is eating worth while?" She 
hurried around the flat till shei was tired again, but hasten 
as she might, Osborn arrived before the cooking was 
done. 

She was changing her gown when he appeared at the 
door of their room; she had not yet lowered the standard 
she had set for the ever-dainty wife prepared to charm her 
lord. 

“ Hallo, kiddie ! " said Osborn, his voice rather 
tired. “ I'm awf'ly hungry. Had a quick lunch. Is 
dinner ready? " 

“No, it isn't," she replied sharply; “and what's more, 
it won't be for another half-hour." 

“ Well, you might hurry it." 

“I've been hurrying; I'm sick of hurrying, and sick 
of getting meals." 

The door slammed. She swung round with raised eye- 
brows, hands up to her hair, which she was dressing. 

Osborn was gone. She heard him entering the bathroom 
noisily. 

“Temper," she said aloud. “Temper!" 

There was a big blank wall, ugly, insurmountable, cutting 
right across the garden of married life. 


CHAPTER VIII 


BABY 

Marie awoke Osborn very early on a September morn- 
ing; she leaned upon her elbow, gazing over to his bed, 
with terror in her eyes. 

^‘Osborn,'' she gasped, “fetch the doctor! Tele- 
phone the nurse! The time’s come, and Pm so fright- 
ened. You won’t leave me long? I can’t be left. Come 

back quickly and help me, Osborn. ... I daren’t stay 

alone.” 

As Osborn ran, roughly dressed, and sick with fear, 
down the road to the doctor’s house, the irritations, the 
trials and domestic troubles of the past half-year were 
swept away by comparison with this that loomed in- 
finitely greater. • It had seemed to him, though he had 
borne it more or less silently, very pitiable that a man, 
the breadwinner, should ever come home weary of eve- 
nings to find his dinner not ready; it had seemed to him 
sometimes, well as he had concealed the feeling for the 
most part, almost intolerably irksome to bear the strain 
of the fads and fancies, the nerves and frets of a deli- 
cate, child-bearing woman; he had wondered more than 
once if jolly cynics like Rokeby weren’t right after all; 
the numerous small inroads upon his pocket had been 
unexpected, pin-pricking sort of shocks. But all this 
now receded; the hour was upon them, upon him, and 

8o 


BABY 


8i 


the woman he loved; what did a spoiled dinner matter? 
What did a fretful quarrel matter, if only she won 
through? He begged the doctor’s immediate presence 
as a man begging life; but he himself hurried ahead, 
back to Marie. When with trembling lips and tremb- 
ling hands he had kissed and caressed her, he lighted 
the fires in the flat, in the dining-room, her bedroom, 
the bathroom geyser and the kitchen stove ; he didn’t 
know what else to do, and he had vague ideas about 
plenty of hot water for some purpose unknown. He 
brought Marie tea and she would not let him leave her 
again; she clung to him as to a saviour, but he felt so 
helpless. 

The doctor arrived before the nurse; the nurse while 
he was still there. It won’t happen yet,” he told them. 
‘‘You must be a brave girl; nurse’ll tell you what to do; 
and I’ll look in again at mid-day.” 

“You’ll stay, doctor?” she cried. 

“ You won’t leave her, doctor,” stammered Osborn 
aghast. 

“You’ll be all right,” said the doctor to Marie; 
“ you’ve got nurse and Til be here again long before you 
want me.” Outside in the corridor he faced Osborn’s pro- 
tests. 

“ My dear fellow, I can’t stay. It wouldn’t do any good 
if I could. Remember she isn’t the only woman in the 
world to go through it.” 

“ She’s the only woman in the world to me ! ” cried 
Osborn in a burst of agony. 

The doctor advised Osborn to eat breakfast before he 
left him, and when he had gone the’ two terrified young 
people hung upon the wisdom of the nurse. 

Before the doctor came again Osborn was shut out of 


82 


MARRIED LIFE 


the chamber of anguish, but the flat was small and from 
the farthest corner of it he heard Marie’s moans and cries 
and prayers. 

He stood with his hands over his ears, praying, too, pray- 
ing that soon it would be over, that she might not cease 
to love him. How can she ever love me again ? ” he 
thought over and over. 

It seemed to him a dreadful death for love to die. 

As September dusk was falling, after a silence like fate 
through the flat, Osborn heard his child’s cry. Half an 
hour after that the doctor came out of the birth-place. 
He walked through the open sitting-room door to the spot 
where Osborn stood as if transfixed and saw how the young 
man had suffered; but he had seen scores of such young 
men suffer similarly before. He glanced around the room 
and saw the dead fire in the grate. He himself looked 
weary. 

Buck up ! ” he said, with a hand on Osborn’s shoulder. 
‘‘You’ve a jolly little boy. You look bad! What have 
you been doing all this time ? ” 

“ Listening,” Osborn gasped. 

“And you’ve not done any good at it, have you?” the 
doctor said, shaking his head. “ You might as well have 
cleared off, you know, on to the Heath — saved yourself 

a bit. However Yes, I quite understand how you 

felt. You’d better have something — a cup of tea, a whisky 
and soda.” 

“ She? ” Osborn uttered. 

“ She’s doing all right ; I shall look in again 
to-night.” 

“ She — she had a — a rough time ? ” 


BABY 


83 

^^Yes/’ said the doctor, ‘"girls of her type do. WeVe 
progressed too far, you know, much too far, for women. 
She’s suffered very much. I’m sorry.” 

“ Can I see her? ” 

“You may go in now and stay till Nurse sends yt)U 
away.” 

While the doctor let himself out quietly, Osborn 
tiptoed down the corridor between the cream walls 
whose creaminess mattered so little, and the black-and- 
white pictures that had lost their values. He tapped with 
icy finger-tips upon Marie’s door and the nurse let him 
in. 

He looked beyond her to the bed where Marie lay, such 
a slim little outline under the covers, such a little, little 
girl to suffer tremendously. Her eyes were open, dark 
and huge and horrified; over her tousled fair hair they 
had drawn one of the pink tulle caps, now come, indeed, 
into their own. 

“ There she is,” said the nurse cheerfully “ We’ve 
made her look very smart, you see, and she’s feeling very 
well. We shall get on splendidly now, and the baby’s 
bonnie.” 

But she could fool neither of these young people; they 
were too modern, too analytic, too disobedient. When the 
horror-struck eyes of Marie and Osborn met they knew 
the immensity of what had occurred. No cheerful pro- 
fessional belittlement could avail. Osborn knelt down by 
his wife. 

“ Leav6 her to me a bit, Nurse,” he said in a strangled 
voice. “ I’ll be very quiet.” 

“ For a few minutes, then,” the nurse replied, and she 
left them. 

Osborn put his face down and cried tears that he could 


MARRIED LIFE 


84 

not stop. He longed to feel Marie’s hand, forgiving him, 
on his head, but she had no comfort for him. She lay 
so still, v^ithout sound or sign, that soon, checking his 
grief with an effort nearly too big for him, he looked up 
and saw that she was crying, too. She was too weak 
to cry passionately, but her weeping was very bitter. This 
frightened him, so that he sprang up on tiptoes and called 
the nurse back. He kept his own shamed, wretched face 
in shadow. 

The nurse sent him away and Marie had not spoken one 
word. 

He crept into the kitchen and made tea, found cold food 
and ate a scratch sort of meal; he had eaten nothing since 
early morning, and then not much. 

He had received a great big shock. 

He did not know that women suffered so. He had some- 
times read how after the birth of a baby, the husband went 
in and found his wife, pale perhaps, tired perhaps, but 
radiant, joyful, triumphant. He had not known that an- 
guished mothers wept such bitter tears. Nothing was as 
he had been led to believe. 

Could she ever get well? 

The nurse came in quickly and softly, and saw the hag- 
gard man sitting at a deal table, eating his scraps. She 
viewed the situation wisely. 

You’ll have to get the porter’s wife in to look after you 
a bit,” she said. ‘‘ Yon can’t go on like that. And my 
hands will be full.” 

Nurse,” said Osborn, was she very bad? Is that the 
— the worst ? ” 

There are worse cases,” replied the nurse briskly, 
but she has suffered a great deal. What did you ex- 
pect? She’s a delicate, slim girl, and we’re not savages 


BABY 85 

now, more’s the pity. The first baby is always the hard- 
est, too.” 

'' The first is the last here,” said Osborn savagely. 

The nurse smiled wisely. Oh,” she said placidly, no 
doubt you’ll be sending for me again in a couple of years, 
or less.” 

What do you think I’m made of?” Osborn cried. 

The same as most men,” said the nurse. But will you 
tell me where to find the patent groats, for I’ve come to 
make gruel and I haven’t time to talk.” 

I’m afraid we never keep any groats or things,” he 
exclaimed. I’m sure we don’t.” 

The nurse answered confidently : Mrs. Kerr is sure to 
have bought everything.” 

Search in the larder revealed the groats, and the nurse 
began the cooking over the gas-stove. While she made 
the gruel, Osborn thought of Marie awaiting her trial, 
preparing for it . . . buying groats. 

He wished he had known what he knew now, so that 
he could have helped her more, have thought of the groats 
for her. 

Nurse,” he asked, ‘‘ do you think she can ever get 
quite well ? ” 

'"Of course she will. Rest and good food will be all 
she wants.” 

" Nurse, can I go and say good night to her? ” 

" Don’t make her cry again, Mr. Kerr, and you may 
come in at eight.” 

As she went out with the cup of steaming food, she 
looked back to ask: 

“ Did you see the baby ? ” 

" Don’t mention the damned baby ! ” said Osborn with 
deep anger. 


86 


MARRIED LIFE 


The baby can’t help it,” answered the nurse, going 

out. 

Osborn sat there thinking. No! The baby couldn’t 
help it. That was very true. Losing his hostility to this 
fragment of life, he began to feel a faint curiosity. What 
was it like? 

At eight o’clock he would look at the baby. 

The nurse looked out of the bedroom door just before 
eight and signalled to him. This time she did not leave 
them alone, though she busied herself at the other side of 
the room, with her back to them, because she knew how 
shy these young things were. And this time Marie looked 
at Osborn with, the ghost of a smile, barely more than a 
tremor of the lips. He bent down. 

She whispered into his ear : I don’t — think — I 
could ever — go — through it — again.” 

Never again, my sweetheart,” he whispered back. 

She made a motion with her lips ; he kissed them gently. 

Good night,” he murmured, ‘‘ sleep well, poor little 
angel.” 

She’ll sleep,” said the nurse unexpectedly, from 
near the fire. She was tending the baby now, and 
Osborn looked across at it in the subdued light. What 
a little mottled pink thing! What creases! What in- 
significance to have brought about all this ! 

“ Look at your bonnie baby, Mr. Kerr,” said the nurse, 
holding the mite aloft. 

‘‘ Is that a bonnie baby? ” said Osborn sourly. 

Osborn,” whispered Marie from the bed, he’s a 
beautiful baby! ” 

Osborn looked down, startled, and saw in her wan 
face some glimmer of an unknown thing. She — she — 
was pleased with the baby! She admired and loved it! 


BABY 


87 


He went out astonished. 

The next morning, still flat on her pillows, she was 
nursing the baby with a smile on her mouth. Under 
her pink cap the faintest colour bloomed in her cheek; 
she asked for a fresh pink ribbon for her nightgown; 
she had slept peacefully. Some flowers were sent very 
early, with congratulations. They were from Rokeby 
and from Julia, and were arranged near her bed as she 
lay with this wonderful toy, this little new pet, Osborn’s 
son, beside her. She had emerged out of her black dark- 
ness into light. 


CHAPTER IX 


PROBLEMS 

Throughout Marie’s convalescence there were things to 
buy; little things, but endless; to a woman who has 
sufYered so greatly for their mutual joy can a man deny 
anything? The husband of a year cannot. Every day, 
before he went to his work — he was third salesman to one 
of the best Light Car Companies in town — Osborn held 
consultation, over the breakfast table, with the nurse. 
He used to say, as bravely and carelessly as if he felt no 
pinch at his pocket, Is there anything you want to-day. 
Nurse?” And there was always something, a lotion, or 
a powder, or a new sponge, or a cake of a particular 
soap. The nurse had no compunction in adding: 'Mf 
you do see a few nice grapes, or a really tender chicken, 
Mr. Kerr, I believe she might fancy them.” 

Osborn’s lunches, during that month, grew lighter 
and lighter ; they almost ceased. 

Mrs. Ambler proved expensive in the kitchen, break- 
ing for the while through her economical rule, feeling 
nothing too good for her poor child. She used to 
remind Osborn every time they met, by word, or look, 
or expressive sigh, how Marie had suflfered. He felt 
oppressed, overridden and tired ; but he was very obe- 
dient beneath the rule of the women. 

He had to wait upon himself a good deal; sometimes 
88 


PROBLEMS 89 

he brought a chop for dinner home in his pocket and 
grilled it himself. 

He slept in the room relegated to him as dressing- 
room or to a chance visitor, as occasion might arise; it 
looked forlorn and dusty, and the toilet covers wanted 
changing. 

He longed to have Marie about again, blithe and pretty; 
and to be rid of this pack. He thought of his mother-in- 
law and the nurse as a pack. 

Several times he succumbed to dining with Rokeby at 
his club, but he always hurried home in time to say good 
night to Marie before she fell asleep. 

When the baby was nearly three weeks old, he was 
called upon to lift his wife out of bed for the first time, 
and to put her in an armchair, which had been prepared 
with pillows and a rug, by the purring gas-fire. She 
was so eager to be moved, and he so eager to have her 
to himself for just a little, that he begged permission to 
take her into another room for awhile, but the nurse 
would have none of it, and she was right, for Marie was 
white and tired when she had sat in the chair for only 
ten minutes. That staggered Osborn afresh. He was 
speechlessly sorry for her, and sat by her holding 
her hand, watching her concernedly, until she asked 
to be put back into bed again. That was on a Sun- 
day. 

The Sunday marked his memory. It disappointed 
him so bitterly to find that Marie was not stronger. 
After all the chickens and grapes, and doctors’ and 
nurses’ fees, she was not strong; and what could he do 
more for her? He was not a rich man. After the drain 
.of all this they must live more steadily even than before; 
he could not waft her and the baby away to some warm 


90 


MARRIED LIFE 


south-coast resort to finish her convalescence; he could 
not take her for long motoring week-ends. 

In a week the nurse would go. Would Marie be 
ready for her to go? If not, could Osborn keep her 
longer ? 

He knew he could not. There was only a sum of 
twelve or thirteen pounds left from the twenty which 
had represented the nest-egg which he had when he 
married; five of those pounds the doctor would take; 
six of them the nurse would take. He tried to arrange 
the disposal of his salary afresh, and could do no more 
than cut down his weekly expenditure of ten shillings to 
five. 

But Marie and the baby were worth it all — if only he 
could get them alone again. 

A week after that the nurse left and Osborn came back 
to Marie's room. 

He looked forward to it; part of the dreadfulness of 
the past month had been their separation; now they were 
to be alone again, without that anarchic and despotic 
pack. On the morning, before he left, he wished the 
nurse good-bye with a false heartiness and handed her, 
breezily, a cheque. He would see her no more, God be 
thanked! When he came home that evening his place 
would be his own, his wife his own, the baby their own; 
there would be no stranger intruding upon their snug 
intimacy. 

Osborn's heart was light when, at six o'clock, he put 
his latchkey into the keyhole and entered ; he gave the long, 
low coo-ee which recalled old glad days, and Marie emerged 
from the kitchen, finger on mouth. 

Hush, don't wake him ! " 

Is he in bed? " 


PROBLEMS 


91 


Nurse stayed to put him to bed before she left.’’ 

Osborn embraced her. We’re alone at last, 
hurrah ! ” 

Will you help me? ” said Marie. I’m so tired.” 

Course I’ll help you, little dear,” he replied 
tenderly. We’ll do everything together, just as we used 
to.” 

Osborn,” said Marie suddenly, that’s the whole secret 
of married life, to do everything together, nice things and 
nasty things.” 

Of course, darling. We do, don’t we? ” 

I suppose we do,” she answered doubtfully ; at least 
there are some things a man doesn’t share because he 
can’t.” 

Her eyes dilated, and he guessed what she was think- 
ing of. I know, sweetest, I know,” he said hastily, but 
try not to remember it; it’s all over and done with; and, 
Marie, I suffered, too.” 

She remembered, then, the tears they had shed 
together on the night of the baby’s birth, and her heart was 
soft 

The night seemed punctuated to Osborn by the crying 
of the baby. It woke at regular hours, as if it could read 
some clock in the darkness ; and quickly as, it seemed to 
him, he must have roused, Marie had wakened quicker, and 
was hushing the child. He could hear her soft whispers 
through the darkness, in the subsequent silences during 
which he guessed, with a thrill of anxious awe, that she 
was feeding it; frail as she was, she gave of what strength 
she had to the baby. Never had Marie seemed more won- 
derful to Osborn. 

Very early in the morning she was tending the baby; 
he wished that he had been able to keep the nurse 


92 


MARRIED LIFE 


longer. He left her reluctantly after breakfast, to get 
through the baby’s bath and toilet unaided, before the 
heavier work of the flat. Women who knew would have 
understood why Marie trembled and despaired at the 
tasks before her. When the baby cried as, with hands 
still weakened, she tried to hold up its slipping little body 
in the bath, she cried, too. As she cried, she thought 
how tears seemed to be always near her eyes during 
these married days. Was something wrong with marriage? 
Before, in her careless girl-days, she had never wept; she 
had never so suffered, so wearied and despaired. While 
she questioned, she dressed the baby in the flannel and 
lawn things she had made for it a long while ago, and 
when she had dressed it, she fed it again, and again it 
slept. 

It was astonishing how much heavier a month-old infant 
could grow during an hour’s marketing. 

That reminded her that they had something else to buy, 
a big thing that would swallow up nearly, or quite, a week 
of Osborn’s pay, a perambulator. The baby had luxu- 
ries ; his toilet set from Rokeby, his christening robe from 
Julia, his puffed and frilly baby-basket from Grannie Am- 
ber, were dreams to delight a mother’s heart ; but he had 
no carriage. For a little while she might carry him when 
she was not too tired ; and when she was, he might sleep out 
on the balcony that jutted from the sitting-room window, 
and she could stay beside him; but ultimately the question 
of the perambulator must arise 

As Marie walked home with her baby and her basket, 
she said to herself: won’t ask poor Osborn now; not 

when he’s just paid that woman a whole six pounds; 
not till he’s settled the doctor; and there’ll be an extra 
bill for the baby’s vaccination soon, and the next 


PROBLEMS 93 

furniture instalment's due; but when all that's cleared 
off, I'll choose the right time and ask him. I shall give 
him an extra nice dinner, and tell him we'll have to buy 
one." 

In a week, when the doctor called to vaccinate the baby, 
he ordered the mother to leave off nursing it herself ; he 
put it upon a patent food, not a cheap food; and it formed 
a pertinacious habit of wearing out best rubber bottle teats 
quicker than any baby ever known. In the nights Marie 
did not now reach out in the darkness to her baby and, 
gathering it to herself, nourish it quietly, without the cer- 
tainty of waking Osborn; but there had to be a night- 
light, there had to be business with a little spirit stove 
and saucepan, the unlucky jingle of a spoon against the 
bottle, so that Osborn began to mutter drowsily : ‘‘ Hang 

that row ! " and she longed to scream at him, It's your 
baby, isn't it, as well as mine?" 

Osborn was unused to and intolerant of domestic 
discomforts such as these; in the nights his nerves were 
frayed; at the breakfast-table he showed it: ^‘You look 
tired to death, and I'm sure I am," he grumbled. ‘Hf 
this is marriage, give me single blessedness every time. 
iWorry and expense! Expense and worry! Such is 
life!" 

In the evenings she was very subdued; she was losing 
her life and light; he did not know that during the day, 
after such display of his irritation, she cried herself sick. 
He asked her to come out to dinner one evening; he 
said: 

‘^You and I are getting two old mopes. Look here, 
girlie, put on your best frock, and come and dine at Pa- 
gani's; I can't afford it, but we'll do it." 

But she could not. 


MARRIED LIFE 


94 

'' Baby/’ she said, hesitating. 

Osborn looked at her in silence. ‘‘ Good heavens ! ” 
he exclaimed, after a while, aren’t we ever to have our 
evenings out, then ? Shall you always be tied here 
now? ” 

A baby ties one,” she replied. 

So it does, doesn’t it?” said Osborn despondently. 

Marie looked at him steadily. Just as she wanted to 
scream at him in the night, so she now longed to cry: 

It’s harder on me than you I Do you think I don’t 
want ever to go out? Do you think I don’t often long 
to go into the West End and look at the shops, or do 
a matinee with mother or Julia, and come back re- 
freshed? ” 

But with the prudence of her mother’s daughter she re- 
strained herself. 

“ Day in, day out, are we always to live the life domestic 
pure and simple?” Osborn demanded. 

For answer she shrugged her shoulders. Osborn thought 
her strangely nonchalant, almost contemptuous. 

Well, I, for one, damned well won’t do it,” he said, 
rising from the table. 

But I must,” Marie replied in a level voice. 

It was Osborn’s turn to look at her; he wondered just 
what she meant by it. 

''Well,” he asked, "I can’t help it, can I?” 

" Neither can I,” said Marie. 

Osborn put on his coat and hat and went out. It was 
the first time he had ever gone out after dinner at home. 
For some while after he had left Marie remained alone 
at the table, staring before her. The small dining-room 
was still charming in the candlelight, but it took on a 
new aspect for her. The cream walls and golden-brown 


PROBLEMS 


95 

curtains enclosed her irrevocably. She would never get 
away from this place, the prison of home. Day in, day 
out, as Osborn said, it would be the same. The man 
might come and go at will, the woman had forged her 
fetters. 

Didn’t men ever understand anything? What crass 
vanity, what selfishness, what intolerance, kept them 
blind? 

Marie was hardening. She did not cry. After a 
while she rose and cleared the table. As Osborn was 
not there, wishing for her company, she washed 
up. That would make it so much easier in the 
morning. 

It left her, though, with an hour now in which to sit 
down and resume her thinking. 

The flat was very quiet, very desolate. The man had 
gone out to seek amusement. How queer women’s lives 
were! 

She knew women whose husbands invariably went out 
at night, as soon as they had fed. What did these women 
really think of their men? What did these men really 
think of their women? How much did each know of the 
other? At what stage in these varied married lives did 
the wife become merely a servitor, to serve or order the 
serving of her husband’s dinner, for which he came home 
before, again, he left her? 

Married life! 

At nine-thirty Marie prepared the baby’s bottle and went 
to bed. She schooled herself to sleep, knowing that during 
the night the baby would make his demands, and she fell 
asleep quickly. She did not hear Osborn come in. He 
looked about the flat for her before going to his dressing- 
room, and, not finding her, said to himself wilfully: 


MARRIED LIFE 


96 

Marie’s sulking ; she wouldn’t wait up. Does she always 
expect a fellow to stay at home? ” 

By the glim of the nightlight, when he went into their 
room he saw her sleeping. The child slept, too. Osborn 
got resentfully into his bed, and thought of Rokeby, with 
whom he had just parted, and the end of a conversation 
they had had. 

‘‘ You could afford to marry, Desmond.” 

What’s the standard ? ” 

Being able to keep servants,” said Osborn harshly. 
‘‘You marry the girl you love, a pretty girl you’re proud 
to take about, and she can’t come out to dine with you; 
she can’t move from home ; babies, they cry all night, burn 
’em ! And she gets ready to hate you. It’s hell ! ” 


CHAPTER X 


RECRIMINATION 

On a day of January, like spring, Julia went upon a senti- 
mental errand, influenced by she did not know what; but 
she guessed it was the youth in the air. It made her think 
of the youngest thing she knew, and that was Marie’s 
baby, and of what she could do for it; and all that she 
could do, as far as she saw, was to buy it a superfluous 
woolly lamb. So after her day’s work was over, at half- 
past five, Julia put on her hat and coat with a purpose, 
and stepped into the toy department of her favourite 
stores. 

Julia was not mean; from out the whole flock of lambs 
which she found awaiting her selection she chose a beauty. 
Its white fluffiness and its beady eyes affected her softly; 
her handsome face grew motherly as she insinuated the 
stranger into her muff, where her hands stroked it uncon- 
sciously. Julia was far more pleased with the lamb than 
the baby would be, as she boarded an omnibus and rode 
towards Hampstead. 

It was six when she arrived at the door of No. 30 Welham 
Mansions, and Marie opened it to her with the baby in 
her arms, huddled up in a rather soiled shawl from 
which only his incredibly downy head emerged. He 
looked solemnly at Julia and emitted an inquiring 
croak. 


97 


MARRIED LIFE 


98 

You aren’t still carrying that baby out, are you? ” Julia 
asked suddenly. 

They entered the sitting-room together. 

‘‘What else can I do? If I go out, he’s got to go, 
too.” 

“ You’ll get a perambulator? ” 

“ I’m going to ask Osborn soon.” 

“Why not ask him now?” 

“ He’s had such a lot of expense, poor boy.” 

“ Still,” Julia argued, “ it’s got to be bought, and you 
ought to be saved. Ask him to-night, after dinner.” 

“ I believe I will,” said Marie. “ My back ached so.” 

Julia was more bewildered than angry. 

“ My goodness! ” she said sharply. “ What’s the matter 
with life? Why can’t a young man and woman have a 
baby and look healthy over it? I’ve got to ask someone 
that, and get an answer.” 

Julia followed Marie back to the kitchen. 

“ I’ll whip the cream, if he’s got to have it,” she said 
grudgingly. 

“ And I’ll go and look nice for once. Then I’ll ask him 
for the perambulator.” 

Marie came out again in the wedding-frock of chiffons, 
very tumbled now, looking sweet but with the hectic flush 
of her exertions still on her cheeks. 

“ All my clothes are going to glory! ” she lamented. 

“ Tell you what,” said Julia, producing frothy mounds 
of cream round her energetic whisk, “ do have my 
bridesmaid dress. I’ve never worn it since your wedding 
• — too picturesque for my style, that frock is. But if 
you ” 

“ No, I won’t ! ” Marie protested, tears in her eyes. “ I’m 
not going to take anything from you except your old gloves 


RECRIMINATION 


99 

for the housework. It would be scandalous; you, a girl 
working for her living, and me, a married woman with a 
husband to work for me 

I know which Td rather be,'’ Julia remarked. 

So do I," said Marie, with a quick intake of breath. 

They looked at each other a little defiantly, but did not 
proceed to any enlightenment. Then Julia went up to Marie 
and laid her arms about her neck and her cool lips upon 
her hot cheek. 

^'Well, leave it at that," she said. ‘^Good-bye, kiddie; 
take care of yourself. I can’t stay. Send for me any time. 
I must fly! ’’ And was gone. 

Osborn came in hungry before seven, sniffed the dinner 
cooking, and turned into the dining-room. He took off 
his boots, fished his carpet slippers from behind the coal- 
scuttle, and put them on with a sigh of relief. The smell 
which pervaded the flat was savoury and good; the dinner- 
table was ready to the last saltspoon; the baby was quiet; 
all seemed to promise one of those smooth domestic eve- 
nings sometimes granted to a man. 

He settled down by the fire after dinner to read so much 
of his evening paper as the Tube journey had not given 
him time for, while Marie made coffee and handed him 
his cup. 

'' Osborn,’’ she said. 

Yes, dear.’’ 

I wanted to ask you about something.’’ 

Into Osborn’s eyes crept a harassed look, almost of fear ; 
it was a very reluctant look, with repugnance in it and 
resignation and suspicion. 

About something? ’’ he asked cautiously, ‘‘ or for some- 
thing? ’’ 

Marie had seen the look and had quite an old 


lOO 


MARRIED LIFE 


acquaintance with it. That ever-ready lump rose to 
her throat, and she had that passing wonder which 
she had often felt before — why she should cry so easily 
now. 

‘‘ For something,” she answered hesitatingly. 

There was a silence. 

Osborn lifted his paper as if to resume reading. His 
face flushed and his forehead lined. 

‘‘ What do you want now? ” he asked at last. 

Marie flushed, too, till her face burned and tears glittered 
in her eyes. 

Fm afraid,” she said, that — that we’ll have to buy 
a pram, shan’t we? ” 

A 'pram’?” said Osborn, as if she had asked for a 
motor-car. 

" All babies have to have one. It’s time — he ought to 
have had after the first month. He’s getting so heavy, 
I can’t carry him about much longer.” 

" Then don’t carry him about.” 

" I’ve got to, unless I stay in altogether.” 

Osborn became silent. Because he felt desperately poor 
he also felt desperately angry; because he felt desperately 
angry he was angry with the most convenient person — his 
wife. 

" Couldn’t we buy one,” said Marie, after he had re- 
mained mute for some while, " from the furniture people 
on the instalment plan? ” 

"Instalment plan!” he barked. "I’m sick of in- 
stalments! When am I ever going to be free? When’s 
my money ever going to be my own again? Tell me 
that!” 

" I can’t tell you anything,” said Marie, beginning to 
cry. 


RECRIMINATION 


lOI 


Tears again! ’’ he groaned. Always this blasted tap- 
turning if you ask a woman a lucid question! Don’t you 
see what you’re making life for me? Don’t you see the 
eternal drag you’re putting on my wheel? I never drink, 
I never play cards, I don’t do what any other fellow under 
the sun would expect to do ; I give you all I can — every 
penny’s gone in this awful domesticity. Domesticity? 
Slavery, I call it! What more can I do? What more 
do you expect? You ask for a perambulator as if it were 
a sixpenny-ha’penny toy ! What would a perambulator 
cost? ” 

She retained control enough to reply : 

'"I — I have a catalogue. The one I’ve marked — I’d 
thought of — is — is three pounds ten.” 

Osborn threw away restraint. 

Three pounds ten!” he cried. ‘^Within ten bob of 
a week’s salary! Do you realise what you’re asking? My 
God, women have a cheek. You bleed a man and bleed 
him until — until he don’t know where to turn. It’s ask, 
ask, ask ” 

Then Marie also flung off restraint and gave all her pent- 
up nerves play. They faced each other like furies, he red 
and grim, she shaken and shrill. 

Ask, ask, ask ! And what has marriage ever 
given me? Look at me! I was happy till I married 
you ! I never knew what it was to be so poor and 
— and grudged till I’d married you! I didn’t know 
what marriage was. I didn’t know I’d be hungry and 
worried — yes, hungry ! — and made ashamed to ask for 
every penny that I couldn’t get without asking. Why 
can’t I get it? Why, because you took me away from 
my job and married me! I cook for you, and sew and 
sweep and dust for you, and you take it all as a matter of 


102 MARRIED LIFE 

course. All Eve given up for you you take as a matter 
of course! 

All Eve suffered for you you take as a matter of course 
. . . you men! 

I didn’t know what it’d be like to have a baby, or, God 
knows, Ed never have had one ” 

Be quiet ! ” shouted Osborn. Be quiet ! ” 

But she raved on : 

No, I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t, I tell you! What do you 
expect of women? You expect us to want babies and bear 
them in all that — hell, and be pleased to have them; and 
— and to put up with begging from you for them! And 
you don’t care how weak we are — how our backs ache ; 
you don’t care if the baby goes out or stays in — if I go 
out or stay in. It’s your child, isn’t it? It’s not all my 
fault we had it, is it? There’s a lucid question for you! 
Answer it ! ” 

I will do no such thing!” he cried angrily. ‘^You 
ought to be ashamed of yourself — a woman — a woman 
suggesting she doesn’t want a baby ! ” 

I didn’t say it! I suggest I don’t want one of 
yours ! ” 

"" My God ! ” said Osborn, recoiling. 

Marie grew ice-cold when she had said a thing that she 
would have thought impossible to say; but there was a 
keen triumph in the ice-coldness. She had silenced 
him. 

Isn’t married life ugly?” she asked. ‘'Isn’t it little 
and mean and sordid and stingy and unjust? You create 
a condition which will tie me to the house; you are angry 
with the condition because it’s expensive; you’re angry 
with me for being house-tied. Can I help it? Can I help 
anything? Do you think I don’t want theatres and to go 


RECRIMINATION 


103 

out to dinner with you as I used to? The baby’s yours, 
isn’t he, as well as mine ? ” 

'' Marie,” said Osborn, “Marie ” 

He searched for things to say. 

“ I wish I had never married you — I wish I had never 
married at all,” said Marie. “ Men won’t understand ; 
they’re impatient, they’re brutes! And you haven’t an- 
swered my question yet.” 

Osborn went out of the flat. 

The inevitable answer of the goaded man — anger, silence 
and retreat — cried aloud to her. 

She was afraid of herself. 

What terrible things she had said — she, a little, new, 
young wife and mother! 

She spoke out into the stillness, shocked, appealing, still 
trembling with her rage. 

“ Oh, God! Oh, God! . . . Oh, God, help me! ” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BANGED DOOR 

When Julia had left the Kerrs’ flat and was turning out 
of the building into the windy street, she met Desmond 
Rokeby about to enter. Her handsome face was grim 
beneath her veil and her eyes snapped. As she pulled up 
short and stood in Rokeby’s path, she expressed to him the 
idea of a very determined obstacle. 

How nice to meet you ! ” he cried goodhumouredly. 

I’m glad I’ve met you,” she replied. 

Rokeby surveyed her quizzically. What an ad- 
mission,” he said, ‘‘from an arch-enemy! You are the 
enemy of us all, aren’t you? Is there anything I can do 
for you?” 

“Where were you going?” Julia countered. 

“To No. 30.” 

“ Then — yes — you can do something for me. You can 
go away again.” 

“Are they out?” said Rokeby; “are they ill? What’s 
the mystery?” 

She looked up and down the road ; she gave him the im- 
pression that she stamped her feet and frowned, though 
to appearances she did neither. She ordered : 

“ Don’t loiter here. Osborn — Mr. Kerr’ll be home di- 
rectly, and if he sees you he’ll take you in, won’t he? ” 

“ Probably, I should say.” 

104 


THE BANGED DOOR 


105 

Then come away/’ 

‘‘ If I may walk a little way with you.” 

‘‘ I don’t care where you walk with me,” Julia replied 
vigorously, '' if it isn’t into Marie’s flat.” 

She set a brisk pace down the opposite side of the road, 
as if assuming that Osborn might pass them unnoticing 
on the other, and Rokeby kept step unprotestingly. ‘‘ It 
must be after six o’clock,” he said presently. 

It is,” she replied. 

Which is your way home ? ” 

Julia described her route with a brevity characteristic 
of her. 

He slackened pace, so that she looked round at him, im- 
patiently questioning. 

'' Look here. Miss Winter,” he coaxed, don’t go home. 
Stay out and dine with me. Of course we’re mere 
strangers, but we’re both so emancipated, aren’t we? No, 
emancipated’s an out-of-date word. We’ve passed that, 
haven’t we, long ago? We’re — I dunno what we are; 
there’s no limit to us. Isn’t it jolly? So do come into 
town and dine with me.” 

I think I’d like to, thanks,” said Julia; I’m not quite 
sure.” 

‘‘ Why aren’t you quite sure ? ” 

‘‘ I might be bored with you. How do I know? ” 

Rokeby looked at her with an astonished respect and a 
glim of his saving humour. So you might; er — I 
hadn’t thought of it; but ’pon my word. I’ll do my best. 
Won’t you come if I guarantee that? ” 

And he wanted her to come, oddly. 

Thanks,” said Julia, I will.” 

Queer thing,” Rokeby thought in his surprised soul, 

when a girl all on her own in this hard world hesitates 


io6 


MARRIED LIFE 


to come out to a good dinner with not a bad fellow in 
case she might be bored/’ 

I know what you’re thinking,” said Julia calmly; 

you’re thinking — or you are almost — that it was nearly 
a bit of cheek on my part. I don’t blame you. You’re 
spoilt, all of you. The girls you take out earn their dinners 
and stalls too conscientiously; no matter how dull you are, 
they take pains to shine. Frankly, if you take me out, 
you've got to shine. I demand it. And you’d be surprised 
at the number of invitations an exacting thing like me 
gets.” 

No, I shouldn’t,” said Rokeby softly, bending his 
head to look with a new interest at her face. That’s 
sheer cleverness, that is; that’s brilliance. You’ve 
seized it. A woman should have confidence to demand 
and get.” 

Women are too humble.” 

I never found them so,” Rokeby denied respectfully. 

Well, half of them are too humble, and the other half 
are slave-drivers. If a girl’s got to choose one or the 
other, she’d better drive.” 

That’s awf’ly sound,” said Rokeby. 

They neared a taxicab rank, and the first driver watched 
their approach with inquiring signal. Cab ! ” Rokeby sang 
out, and the man started his engine. 

Where are we going?” Julia asked. 

Where you like,” Desmond answered, only let’s start 
there.” 

He opened the door, she passed in, and he directed, 
Piccadilly; and I’ll tell you just where, presently.” 

He followed Julia in, and they were away, over suburban 
roads darker than the streets of the West. 

Rokeby felt a certain triumph in capturing Julia. 


THE BANGED DOOR 


107 

Besides her modern fighting quality, to which he was 
not entirely antagonistic, he realised that she was a 
pleasure to the eye, a well-tailored, handsome girl, town- 
bred, town-poised, of the neat, trim type so approved 
by the male eye. She knew her value too. She made 
a man think. Cheap attentions she would have handed 
back as trash, without thanks, to the donor. She con- 
ferred a favour, but would never receive one. Her self- 
assurance was no less than royal, and a word or touch 
in violation would have been stamped a rank imperti- 
nence. Rokeby, who had made the same pleasant uses of 
taxicabs as most men about town, knew all this with a 
half-sigh. 

‘‘Where would you like to dine?^’ he asked. “What 
kind of a place do you like? ’’ 

“A quiet place, to-night,’’ said Julia; “it’s better for 
talking, and this evening I’ve got to talk to someone.” 

Whereby she flattered Rokeby more than by any 
degree of easy flirtation which other women might have 
permitted, as they sped along the ever-brightening 
streets. 

“We’ll go to the Pall Mall, if you like. Miss Winter; 
it’s little, it’s good, it’s quiet; interesting people go there; 
we’ll make two more. How about that? ” 

“ It’ll do excellently.” 

“We shall probably get a balcony table if all those down- 
stairs are booked.” 

As Rokeby said, they were in time for a balcony table, 
and he ordered dinner and wine before recurring to his 
former question. 

“ What was all the mystery about No. 30? ” 

“I don’t call it a mystery; it was just a very ordinary 
domestic proposition ; I didn’t want them to be in- 


io8 MARRIED LIFE 

terrupted this evening, because, you see — you will 
laugh 

No, I swear I won't; do tell me." 

Marie wants to ask for a perambulator." 

‘‘‘Him'?" 

“Yes, him. Who's always ‘him' to the household — 
the husband, the tyrant, the terror. Ugh ! " 

“ Oh, come. Miss Winter. Osborn Kerr — I've 
known him for years; there's nothing of the tyrant and 
the terror about him. Why this embroidery of the sad 
tale ? " 

“ Well, why was Marie afraid to ask him, then? " 

“ I don't know anything about it. I'm at a disadvantage 
with you, it seems." 

“ I'm quite willing to tell you ; that's what I’m dining 
with you for, isn’t it?" 

“ Is it? " said Rokeby, with a very charming smile which 
but few women knew. 

She hurried on: “Yes, it is. You see, I didn't want 
you to come in and spoil it all, prevent Marie from asking 
her husband for the perambulator." 

“ You were awf'ly thoughtful, and I'm sure I didn't want 
to chip in at the wrong moment; but, I say, would it have 
mattered so much? Because I'd love to know why; you're 
interesting me, you know. She could have asked him an- 
other time, couldn't she? " 

“ You see, she was all ready to-night." 

“‘All ready'?" 

“ She put on the frock she was married in ; and there 
was the whipped cream he's so fond of, with a cherry pie; 
and it all seemed so propitious that I thought it would be 
a pity if you spoilt it." 

“ You’re right. I wouldn't have cut in for the world. 


THE BANGED DOOR 


109 

But, I say,’’ he cried gleefully, ‘‘what guile! What plot- 
fulness! There’s no getting even with a woman, is there? 
Little Mrs. Osborn and you lay your heads together, and 

she puts on her wedding frock ” 

Julia eyed him with a steely disdain. 

“ Kindly tell me why a woman should trouble herself 
to make plans to coax her husband ? ” 

“ Ask me another. How do I know? She did it, didn’t 
she?” 

“Yes, because he was one of those beastly ‘ hims,’ to be 
toadied and cajoled and fussed into a good humour before 
his wife dare ask for a carriage for the baby that belongs 
to both of them.” 

“ Oh, I see ! I see ! I say. I’m stupid, aren’t I ? ” 

“ ril forgive you your stupidity if you promise me never 
to marry and make any woman miserable.” 

Rokeby became slightly nettled. 

“ Why shouldn’t I marry and make some woman happy? ” 
he demanded. 

“Ask me another; you men don’t seem to, do you?” 

“You’re not very sympathetic to ” 

“ Nor you. Look here ! Bread and butter, and candles 
and bootblacking, and laundering, and expenses for a baby 
when you’ve got one, are all everyday things, aren’t they? 
If a woman’s got to fuss and plan and cry and worry 
and fight just every day for the everyday things, is life 
worth while at all? Isn’t a girl like me, in full possession 
of her health, mistress of her own life, filling her own 
pocket, better off than a girl like Marie who’s married and 
lost it all?” 

Are you?” he demanded, stirred enough to look right 
into Julia’s eyes; and he saw what deep eyes they were, and 
what sincere trouble and question lay in them. 


no 


MARRIED LIFE 


She fenced doggedly : I don’t see why Marie should 

be made wretched; she’s only twenty-six. Is she to have 
that kind of fuss every day of her life? ” 

She won’t want a new perambulator every day, wedl 
hope.” 

‘‘Oh . . . don’t be cheap! You know what I mean. 
Why can’t men meet domestic liabilities fairly and squarely 
with their wives? Why must they be coaxed to look at 
a bill which they authorise their wives to incur? Why is 
a man vexed because he’s got to pay the butcher, when 
he eats meat every day of his life?” 

“ Since you ask, my dear girl. I’ll tell you. People 
are too selfish to marry nowadays and make a good job 
of it. Most men always were; but then women used to 
go to the wall and go unprotestingly. Now something’s 
roused them to jib. They’re making the hell of a row. 
They won’t stand it; and nobody else can. So what’s to 
be done? ” 

“Is this marriage?” Julia asked coldly. 

“ No,” said Rokeby, “ it’s war.” 

“ It ought not to be.” 

“ What do you suggest? ” 

“ N-nothing.” 

“ Nor does anyone else,” Rokeby stated. 

They were through the first course, and he replenished 
her glass with sparkling hock. “ Eat, drink, and be merry,” 
he counselled lachrymosely, “ for to-morrow we may be 
married.” 

“ Never for me.” 

“ That’s rash. People are caught — oh ! it’s the very 
devil to keep out of the net.” 

“ What will be the end of things? ” 

“What things?” 


THE BANGED DOOR 


III 


Marie’s and Osborn’s.” 

My dear Miss Winter, you exaggerate. They’ll shake 
down, and that’s all.” 

Will they be happy? ” 

‘^You’ll have to ask them that, later. But, you see, 
I know Osborn Kerr, and he’ll make the best of it like 
other people. I wish I could convince you. Don’t dis- 
tress yourself over the normal troubles of normal 
people.” 

But Julia still worried on: ‘‘She looked so white and 
tired to-day; she’d been carrying that great baby about 
round the shops, and she’s not strong yet.” 

“ Can’t the baby stay peaceably at home ? ” 

“ Then she’s got to stay too. Where she goes the baby 
must go. She’s given up going out at all except just for 
her marketing.” 

“ Well,” said Rokeby, rubbing his head, “ I don’t know. 
I’m sure, what you or I can do. We’d better leave it all 
alone.” 

“ If I hadn’t spent everything I had in the bank only 
yesterday for a new suit I’d send her a baby-carriage to- 
morrow. It’ll be three weeks before I’ve put by enough 
again.” 

“ Don’t rob yourself,” said Rokeby quickly, with a soft- 
ening face. “ Look here, let me know what happens, will 
you?” 

“About the perambulator?’^ 

“Ah!” 

“Will you be fairy godfather, then?” 

“ If you’d like me to.” 

“ Oh, I would I You — you ” 

“What am I?” 

“ You dear!” 


112 


MARRIED LIFE 


’Rah ! ’Rah ! ” cried Rokeby, shake hands on 
that!” She laid in his frankly a short and capable 
hand. '‘I’m not a ‘him,’ am I? Oh, say I’m 
not.” 

"You’re not — yet. You’re a dear.” 

" Am now, and ever shall be, world without end. 
Amen.” 

" Amen,” said Julia, twinkling. 

" Here are peches melba/' said Rokeby, " women 
always like them. I’m glad they’re on our programme 
to-night.” 

" I adore them.” 

" You might try to remember, before we leave the sub- 
ject,” Rokeby suggested, " that the prospects of these 
' hims ’ aren’t very rosy either sometimes. You see it comes 
hard on a man, though doubtless he’s a black-hearted 
scoundrel to admit it, when he marries and has to stretch 
an income, which was perfectly palmy in the bachelor 
days, to meet the needs of two, or three, or however many 
it may ultimately have to meet. He can’t help a yelp now 
and then. It’s a horrid sound, but it relieves him. The 
only remedy I can suggest for the existing state of affairs 
is that all wives of over a year’s standing should pack 
cotton wool in their ears. Eh? That’s brains, isn’t it? 
Kindly applaud.” 

" ’M . . .” said Julia, tightening her lips. 

" Osborn entered marriage with the most exalted expecta^ 
tions,” Rokeby went on. 

" So did Marie.” 

" I assure you I never knew a chap more in love.” 

" Nor I a girl.” 

" Oh, chuck it ! ” begged Rokeby, laughing. " Do chuck 
it, will you? Then you’ll be a dear too. Look here. 


THE BANGED DOOR 113 

wouIdn^t you like to go on somewhere after this? I can 
telephone from here for seats/’ 

But she would not. So they lingered on for awhile, 
talking and smoking over their coffee; and at last, when 
Julia looked across the room at the clock over the big 
mirrors, she was astonished and half vexed to find how 
much time had slipped by. Then she insisted on going, 
but Rokeby insisted, too, upon his escort all the way home, 
and she did not gainsay him. As he lifted her furs over 
her straight shoulders, waving away the waiter who hast- 
ened forward for the service, he murmured: 

‘‘ Were you bored? ” 

I’ve loved it,” said Julia graciously, for she could be 
generous. 

They walked home, according to her wishes, for it was 
a perfect night, and she a robust young creature who loved 
to give her energy a fling. She walked with a peculiar 
effect of hope and buoyancy, in spite of her habit of sombre 
sayings, and Rokeby found a pleasure in noting her. She 
looked what she was, a woman who had never yet en- 
countered defeat. 

This did not rouse in him the hunting desire to run 
her to earth, or to the dead wall against which she would 
sturdily plant that fine back of hers, and to vanquish her 
vainglory; but it made him softer, more protective of 
her than he had felt before; it made him wish that always 
she would keep this spirit and courage which burned 
like a brave candle in the mists of life. As they said 
good-bye upon the imposing pillar-guarded steps of her 
boarding-house — called in modern fashion a Ladies’ 
Club — he held her hand longer than he had ever imagined 
he might want to hold the hand of this dragon of a 
girl. 


MARRIED LIFE 


114 

‘‘ Be happy/’ he adjured her, ‘‘ don’t take other folks’ 
troubles upon you; let ’em settle their own. Haven’t you 
enough to do ? ” 

I always feel that there is no end to what I could do,” 
Julia confessed. 

''Yes, you generous thing!” Rokeby cried, "but don’t 
abuse yourself. There — you don’t want my advice, do 
you? Forgive me! And thank you so much for an inter- 
esting evening. And — and — good night.” 

He stood at the bottom of the steps watching reluctantly 
while Julia entered. She had a latchkey which, ordinary 
possession as it was, seemed a symbol of her freedom. 
While he would have granted it generously, the freedom 
somehow piqued Rokeby a little. He stood smiling rather 
sadly till she shut the door. 

A scurrying housemaid paused in her rush upstairs to 
say: 

" Oh, miss! You were rung up on the ’phone just now, 
and I took the message. From a Mrs. Kerr, miss, and she 
would be glad if you could go round at once.” 

Julia stood still for a moment or two, keeping her hands 
very still in her muf¥. " I expect . . .” she began to think. 
Then she rushed for the cab-whistle, which hung in the 
hall, pulled open the door, and whistled until a cab came 
creeping round the corner, feeling in its blind way for the 
invisible fare. She ran down the steps, signalling, and it 
spurted up. 

" Number Thirty Welham Mansions, Hampstead,” she 
said as she jumped in. 

It was an extravagant method of travel — being some 
distance to Hampstead — for a young woman earning three 
pounds ten a week and spending most of it gorgeously, but 
she did not care. The four shillings were a nothing com- 


THE BANGED DOOR 


IIS 

pared to Marie’s need of her. She passed the time in 
speculations of wrathful trend, until they pulled up in the 
quiet road from which she had so recently driven away 
with Desmond Rokeby. 

Marie opened the door to her — Marie with a face like 
white marble and burning eyes. Her dead composure was 
wonderful and scornful, but Julia would have none of it; 
as soon as the door was shut upon them and they stood 
there, between the cream walls and black etchings of the 
hall, she seized Marie in her arms, exclaiming: 

'' My poor dear ! What’s up ? Has he ” 

For a long while Marie wept on Julia’s breast, before 
the ashes of the dining-room fire, while the clock with the 
kind voice ticked musically on and on, and the room grew 
chillier, and herself more tired; but at last she could tell 
all. 

We — we’ve had — an awful — quarrel.” 

‘‘Oh dear!” Julia commented, “oh dear!” She did 
not know what else to say. 

“ I asked him — about the pram.” 

“ Yes, yes! As you said you would.” 

“ He is so angry, so unjust.” 

“ My poor old kiddie ! ” 

“ And I was so angry, perhaps I was unjust too.” 

“ No, no, you weren’t,” said Julia viciously. “ Fm sure 
of it. Nothing could be unjust to him. He deserves it 
all.” 

“ No, he doesn’t You don’t understand. But he wasn’t 
fair to-night; he was so angry, and it wasn’t my fault. 
Do they think we like asking, I wonder? And I don’t 
know what I said, Julia, but I know I made him think I 
didn’t want baby.” 

“ Well?” 


ii6 


MARRIED LIFE 


‘‘ But I do want him, Julia. I don't know what Fd do 
without him; I love him so much — they just grow into 
your life, Julia, babies do. He's so sweet." 

Course you love him. I know that. So does Osborn, 
so don’t cry." 

He said I ought to be ashamed of myself." 

Oh, indeed ? /ndeed ! And may one ask 
why? " 

B — because I asked for a pram, I s'pose." 

Really ! Indeed ! I'd like to " 

Perhaps it wasn't just that. I don't know — but he 
got so angry and said he couldn't afford it, and I said, 
‘ P — p — perhaps on the instalment p — p — plan ? ' and 
he said he was sick of instalments and when was his money 
ever going to be his own again? And I can't help it, 
Julia, can I? I haven't money of my own. And then I 
got angry and said things ; and he said I ought to be ashamed 
of myself." 

But aren't you going to have the pram ? " 

I don't know. I don't expect so. He went out with- 
out saying." 

That's like a man. Go out and slam the door if you 
don't want to give an answer! " 

''Julia, I — I'm afraid I hurt his feelings. I made him 
say, 'My God!"' 

" That's nothing. They speak of God like a man in the 
street. That means nothing." 

" Are you sure? " 

" Sure, you poor lamb? I'm as sure as sure." 

"Do you think you know much about men, Julia?" 

" I know too much, thank you." 

" I hope you didn't mind coming here again ? I 
didn't know what to do; I was so wretched, and there 


THE BANGED DOOR 117 

was no one to speak to; no one to tell; so I thought of 
you/' 

That's right, my dear. Always think of me, if I can 
do anything. You know I'll always come." 

‘^You are a darling, Julia." 

The two girls hugged each other strenuously. 

Marie said with a break yet in her voice, It seemed to 
me I was being quite reasonable." 

‘‘ There are all sorts of men," said Julia, “ kind men and 
unkind; mean men and generous; good-tempered and bad- 
tempered ; every sort except a reasonable one. There's 
never been a reasonable man born yet." 

When Julia had pronounced this dictum, she 
stroked Marie's hair, and said: ‘'You know, baby, 
you ought to go to bed like the other baby. You're 
tired out and your young man'll be home soon, I've no 
doubt." 

“ I don't suppose he'll be later than eleven." 

“ Well, I'd rather not be still here when he comes, thank 
you." 

“ Oh, you wouldn't say I'd told you anything ! " 

“ I won't give myself a chance. I'll put you to bed and 
then I'll go home." 

Julia was like a mother to Marie when she helped her 
to undress, and tucked her up in the bed beside the infant's 
cot. And when Marie asked anxiously, with her mind still 
troubled: “Julia, you know that I love baby, don't you?" 
she was warm in her assurances. 

“ Would you mind," said Marie, “ making up the dining- 
room fire a little, please, dear, in case Osborn is cold when 
he comes in?" 

Julia stroked on her gloves slowly. “ Certainly," she 
replied, after a pause. 


ii8 


MARRIED LIFE 


'' I should only put on a couple of lumps, dear,'' said 
Marie from the bed. 

‘‘Righto!" Julia answered at the door. “Good night, 
babies ! " 

Very softly she closed the door and left them. 

She stood for a few moments in the dining-room try- 
ing to persuade herself to make up the fire for Osborn. 
She hated doing it; she grudged him his fire and his arm- 
chair and pipe and the comfort of those carpet slippers she 
saw behind the coal-box. But at last she took up the tongs, 
saying to herself sourly : 

“ It's for Marie, after all, because she asked me ; not for 
him." 

She chose her lumps of coal carefully, the two 
biggest, heavy enough to crush out altogether the tiny 
glow of the embers which remained; she battened them 
down and remained to assure herself that they would not 
burn. 

“ He won't be able to say the fire wasn't made up," she 
thought. 

She placed Osborn's carpet slippers carefully in front 
of it. 

“ He can't say he wasn't made comfortable when he came 
in." 

She went out, with a small sense of satisfaction, and 
called softly along the corridor, “ Good night, babies," be- 
fore she left the flat. It was very, very cold, and she was 
more than ready for her own bed. 

She travelled homewards upon the Tube. 

Before she slept, however, Julia had a letter to write, 
to Desmond Rokeby ; she addressed it to his business address, 
which she happened to know, and marked it Very urgent. 
The contents were as urgent as the instruction upon the 


THE BANGED DOOR 


119 

envelope, and once again that night she left the Ladies’ 
Club to post the letter at the pillar-box at the corner. It 
would be cleared at midnight, and Rokeby should get his 
news by the first post in the morning. 

Then Julia Winter slept; but although her head was full 
of two babies, a grown-girl one and a tiny weakling one, 
together in a soiled -pink room, it was not of them that she 
dreamed. She was sitting once more at a balcony table 
in the quiet red restaurant with the big mirrors, facing 
an unusual kind of man who cared as little what she thought 
of him as she cared what he thought of her; the restaurant 
was warm and rosy, and they drifted upon the flying hours, 
like two voyagers upon a happy river. 


CHAPTER XII 


BEHIND THE VEIL 

Marie heard Osborn come in and go to the dining-room 
and hit an unresponsive mass of coal vigorously, but she 
gave no sign. In the darkness she listened for all the 
sounds she had learned to know so well; his movements 
in the dressing-room, his splashing as he washed face and 
hands in the bathroom, his pat-pat tread in carpet slippers 
along the corridor to their door. To-night he paused here, 
as if listening; and it seemed as if her heart paused, too, 
while she also listened for him. But he spoke no word, 
and she spoke none, and the baby slept, so presently she 
heard the cautious turning of the handle and his careful 
entry. 

She feigned sleep. 

He knew, by tiny signs he had learnt to discover, 
that she was not asleep, but he feigned belief that she 
was. 

His bed creaked to tell her that he was getting into it, 
in the darkness, by her side. 

Both Marie and Osborn were still angry, sore, in- 
sulted and resentful, and, like other married people in small 
homes, they must intrude upon each other intimately, 
sleep side by side , wake side by side, and remain as 
closely conscious of each other as if they dwelt together, 
by mutual desire, in a perpetual garden of roses. True, 

120 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


I2I 


there was a bed in Osborn’s dressing-room, but it was 
an uncomfortable bed of the fold-up family, and when 
he came in to-night it was folded against the wall, and 
he did not know exactly where its particular blankets 
were kept. He looked at it, thinking, ^‘God! If I 
could only sleep here for a night or two ! ” But he allowed 
himself to be daunted by the problem of the blankets, 
and he went, as usual, to the room he shared with 
Marie. 

But each was too angry to speak, and the presence of 
each was fuel to the other’s anger. 

Osborn was wakened in the morning by Marie’s 
attentions to the baby. Though he had gosle to sleep turned 
as completely away from her as possible, in the night 
he had rolled over, and now he watched her quietly 
and sulkily in the grey dawn, with just one eye opened 
upon her above the rim of his bedclothes. If she looked 
he meant to close his eyes again quickly, pretending 
sleep. 

But there was something about the frailty of her 
figure as she sat up in bed, turning to the table with the 
spirit-lamp and saucepan upon it, a quality of wistful 
charm in her little undressed head, which went towards 
softening him. She was quiet, too; she spoke no word, 
nor looked towards him. He watched her patiently wait- 
ing for the boiling of the milk; he watched the care with 
which she mixed the food; and then she got out of bed, 
not minding the stark cold, and gave the bottle to the 
drowsy baby. She bent over it for a minute, smoothing 
its downy head with her light fingers; then she propped 
the bottle comfortably for the baby, by some ingenious 
management of its bed-clothing, and looked at the clock 
by her bedside. After she had looked at the clock she 


122 MARRIED LIFE 

stood hesitating for awhile and he knew what she was 
deciding. 

She wanted five minutes more of that warm bed after 
a night broken, as usual, by the baby’s demands; but it 
was time to get up and sweep and cook and light fires and 
lay Osborn’s breakfast-table. 

After all, it was Osborn who broke the silence between 
them, sulkily. 

I should give yourself five more minutes ; you’ll freeze 
out there.” 

Marie turned round quickly and looked at his long, com- 
fortable outline under his pink quilt. She hesitated, then 
spoke in her natural voice, which he was secretly relieved 
to hear: 

It’s half-past six; I’ll have to dress.” 

Poor old girl ! ” Osborn mumbled from his pillow. 
After she had gone quietly out, and he listened to the 
sounds of running water in the bathroom, and after 
she had come back, and he watched her again, one eye 
cocked furtively over the blankets, while she moved 
about quickly, he thought and considered and argued 
with himself about her. But, after all, she did as other 
women do, didn’t she? She had a home and a husband 
and child, and she was bound to look after them, wasn’t 
she? He gave her all he could, and sometimes it seemed 
to him — though he didn’t mean to grouse — that she 
might have managed better. His mother, for instance, 
grown grey and quiet in the service of himself and his 
father, had worked wonders with the limited family 
money. 

Had she been still alive, she might have given Marie a 
few wrinkles, perhaps. . . . 

There is little doubt that Mrs. Kerr the departed 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


123 

could have given her young daughter-in-law a few 
wrinkles had she met her — wrinkles of the most un- 
profitable kind upon her fair face; but as it was, Mrs. 
Kerr senior lay quietly afar off from No. 30 Welham 
Mansions, impotent to reform, and Osborn lay thinking 
his thoughts in silence while Marie, having dressed to 
petticoat and camisole, wreathed up her long and lustrous 
hair. 

The baby sucked intermittently at his bottle. 

When Marie had put on her blouse and skirt, and a 
pinafore to protect them, she went out without further 
conversation. Osborn wondered a little whether she sulked, 
but she was not sulking; she was only occupied much as 
he was, in thinking and considering and arguing with her- 
self about him. She was modern enough to remain proud 
and critical and impatient after domestic experiences which 
would have gone far towards cowing the generation of 
women before her. Her mother had bowed beneath such 
experiences without so much as an inquiry or expostulation. 
As Marie hurried about with brush and duster, with black- 
lead and fire-fuel, as she stood over the purring stove, and 
watched toast and eggs and coffee come to their various 
perfections, each over its ring of flame, she was absorbed 
in wondering : 

''It is I who am right? Ifs I who have the harder 
time? It’s the woman upon whom everything falls? But 
can’t it all be put right somehow? Couldn’t I make him 
see?” 

Something definite emerged from her prospecting, at 
least; the resolve to seek an understanding with Osborn, 
not now, over breakfast with its time-limit and its haste, 
but perhaps to-night, after dinner, when he’d come in, and 
been fed and rested, and had put on his warm slippers. 


124 


MARRIED LIFE 


She faced Osborn over the breakfast-table with a bright- 
ness which he was relieved to see; but after he had noted 
it with inward approval, he hid himself behind his news- 
paper; he wanted to say little; to get away very, very 
quietly. 

He had known many men who had to fly before the 
domestic sirocco; he had laughed at and despised them 
in his heart. But — poor beggars! No doubt they had 
hidden themselves behind newspapers with a child-like 
faith in the impenetrability of the shield, even as he was 
hiding. 

Poor beggars ! 

It was no better than the ostrich habit of tucking your 
head into the sand, to crowd yourself behind your morn- 
ing paper. You felt awfully nervy behind it, and you kept 
a scowl handy. There was something in the tension which 
made you bolt your good food quickly, indifferent as your 
lunch would be presently, and which made you glad when 
you were ready to rise, and remark with a forced 
bonhomie: 

“ Well, so long, girlie ! I must be off.^^ 

Marie followed Osborn out into the narrow hall, 
where now faint daubs marked the cream distemper, and 
helped him on with his coat, and found his gloves and 
muffler. It's cold, dear," she said solicitously, wrap 
up well." 

‘‘Oh, that's all right! Take care of yourself and baby. 
Good-bye!" 

He stooped and kissed her lips quickly, avoiding her 
eyes, and went out whistling. A forlornness overtook 
her ; she ran back through the dining-room to the 
window, and, leaning out, watched for him to emerge 
from the doorway below; when he came, and started 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


125 

down the street towards the tramcar terminus, she 
made ready to wave as she used to do should he look 
up. 

But he did not look up, as he strode purposefully away. 
A few months ago he would have lagged a little, glancing 
up and waving frequently before he finally disappeared. 
This morning as she watched the thought smote : ‘‘ When 

did he forget to wave to me? When did we leave off — 
all this?’’ 

She remembered it was when she began to be so 
really busy, after the baby came. Baby was crying 
sometimes as they finished breakfast; she must hurry to 
him; it was time for his bath; he must have his bath, 
mustn’t he? She couldn’t help that. But she rather 
thought that perhaps this was the beginning of the end 
of all those dear smiles and salutes right down the street 
back to the girl above. Perhaps Osborn had looked up 
in vain many mornings, hoping to see her leaning out there, 
and at last had ceased to mind whether she were there or 
not. 

A surprise came for Marie after lunch. She was 
making herself ready to carry her baby and her basket 
to the open-air market a street away, where the thriftier 
housewives of the neighbourhood shopped, when a 
delivery carman left at her door the handsome baby-car- 
riage which Julia’s note had sent Desmond Rokeby out 
post-haste to buy. Such a perambulator Marie had 
never hoped for, nor dreamed of ; it boasted every luxury 
of contrivance, from the umbrella basket, slung to the 
handles, to its C-springs and its big, smooth-rolling 
tyres. In colour it was French-grey, extremely dainty; 
and it came with Desmond’s love to his godson and a 
tactfully expressed hope that his gift had not been fore- 


126 


MARRIED LIFE 


stalled. So Marie put her baby in, and her basket, too; 
and after she had finished admiring her pink-and-white 
son among the lavender upholstery, she wheeled him out 
proudly to the open-air market, where the equipage drew 
forth delighted comments from the vendors who knew 
her well. She did not come straight home, as she had 
to do when carrying the baby; but, her purchases finished, 
she turned towards the Heath, and wheeled about proudly 
there for a while, envying no one, not the smart nurses 
who propelled their smart perambulators, nor the few 
mothers who strolled beside them. She felt that, with 
the finest baby in town in a French-grey and lavender 
chariot, she could meet and beat any turnout of the 
kind. 

Marie sang during the rest of the afternoon when she 
reached home again. She sang while she made a cup 
of tea; sang while she put her boy to bed, and set about 
her preparations for her husband’s return; he heard 
her singing when he fitted his latchkey unobtrusively in 
the lock, and stepped, still furtively, into the hall. He 
breathed freely again and told himself that the storm had 
passed. 

He sat down by the fire, before which his wife had 
set his slippers, but he did not unlace his boots. He was 
hungry ; he cast a short look over the dinner-table to 
judge, by its arrangement, something of what he might 
be given to eat. Before he had made a guess, Marie 
ran in. 

‘‘Guess!” she cried, “guess what’s happened!” 

“ Dunno, old girl,” said Osborn. 

“ That dear darling Mr. Rokeby has sent us the most 
gorgeous baby-carriage.” 

“ The devil he has ! ” said Osborn, with deep feeling, 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


127 

straightening his shoulders as if a burden had been lifted 
from them. 

“ It’s down in the lobby with the other prams ; you must 
go down and see it.” 

‘‘I will after dinner. By Jove, that’s good of Rokeby! 
I wonder what made him think of it.” 

‘‘I can’t imagine; he is thoughtful, isn’t he?” 

^‘What’s it like?” 

It’s pale grey, with ball bearings ; and C-springs, and 
an umbrella basket. There’s no enamel; it’s all nickel. 
And the upholstery. . . .” 

By Jove, Desmond’s done the youngster proud, 
what? ” 

“We couldn’t possibly have bought such a carriage for 
him, Osborn ! ” 

Osborn began to feel flattered as well as pleased. He 
had always noticed, of course, the very particular attrac- 
tion and beauty and the early cleverness of his son, but 
he had not guessed that the little beggar had so impressed 
that confirmed bachelor. 

“ Rokeby thinks no end of the kid, you know,” he said, 
sitting down to the table. 

“That’s not to be wondered at, is it?” replied the en- 
thusiastic mother. 

Osborn caught her hand as she passed by him and kissed 
it. 

“I’ve been thinking about you — about us — to-day,” 
he confided. 

“Have you?” she said timidly. 

“We — we were both,” Osborn hesitated, “ both a bit — 
mad last night, weren’t we?” 

He pressed her hand before he relinquished it so 
that she might proceed to the kitchen to dish up the 


128 MARRIED LIFE 

dinner. And she went with a lighter heart because of his 
affection. 

Opposite him, beneath the candles which she still 
lighted with pleasure each night, she regarded him with 
a new earnestness. The quarrel was over, it seemed ; 
but it had opened for her a door through which she had 
never passed before, the door into the darkness of hu- 
man hearts, and she felt as if she would never forget 
that horrific step across the unveiled threshold. She 
watched Osborn steadily yet unobtrusively while his mind 
was given to the meal; she saw him eat with a great 
hunger, and the rather tired look which had marked 
his face when he first came in disappeared as he ate. 
Men who perforce eat lunch very frugally look forward 
keenly to a good meal, and Osborn had no eyes or 
words for Marie until the edge of his appetite was sat- 
isfied. She did not yet understand this very well; she 
was inclined to a slight resentment in his absorption 
with his dinner to the exclusion of herself. But she did 
not interrupt him by chatter; she just sat there quietly 
observing until he should be ready for more conversa- 
tion. 

Presently she brought his coffee round to his side, 
and he lighted a cigarette with a sigh of satisfaction. 
He appreciated, indefinitely, her gift of silence when a 
man came in sharpset for dinner; he had spent a day 
among busy men, talking all the time, and he did not 
wish to talk any more. After all, a man came home for 
quiet. 

Marie had spent the day alone with the baby. There 
had been no voice save her singing one uplifted in the 
flat since early morning; she wanted to sit with Osborn 
by the fire in their dear old way, and to talk and talk; 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


129 

and to hear him talk. After all, was not the companion- 
able evening the time for which the lonely household 
woman lived through her silent day? 

She brought her coffee to a place near him and sat down 
there. 

Osborn,^’ she said, I was awfdy hurt that you were 
so angry last night. I do want you to see that it isn't 
my fault." 

He looked at her rather appealingly. Let's chuck it," 
he suggested. 

‘‘If you will only understand! I don't believe men 
think; but if you would think over it for just a few 
minutes, dear old boy, you'd know that I'm just as care- 
ful as a woman can be. You used to give me thirty 
shillings a week for the housekeeping before we had baby ; 
and I've never asked you for any more since, have I? 
And his food's awf'ly expensive too. I manage on just 
,the same, Osborn." 

“Yes, yes," he said, moving uneasily, “but where's all 
this leading? I mean " 

“ It isn't leading anywhere. I only wanted you to see 
that I can't help anything." 

After a pause, with a little line between his brows, he 
said: 

“ No, I know you can't. It's all right. You said some 
perfectly awful things last night " 

“ So did you, Osborn." 

He rose slowly. “ Well, dear, we won't go over it. 
We've seen things with the gilt off; and that's that. Any- 
how, there's nothing to worry about, is there? We're 
about straight with the world, though it means every 
penny earmarked before I earn it. And there's no ques- 
tion of buying a pram now, thank God 1 " 


MARRIED LIFE 


130 

He turned away and searched on the mantelpiece for 
matches. "" It made me shudder/’ he said very gravely, 
“three-pound-ten! Four pounds! After all the expenses 
Fd had.” 

“ Well . . she said, swallowing hard, “ well, come 
and see Mr. Rokeby’s present. It’s a ten-guinea carriage, 
Osborn; nothing less.” 

He swung round and looked at her, palsied in amaze- 
ment. 

“Ten guineas! Ten! Good God! Why ... it takes 
me the best part of three weeks to earn what that baby 
of yours just rides about in!” 

“ Aren’t you coming down to see it?” 

“I — I shall see it as I go out, thanks.” 

“ When you — go out ! ” 

She looked down quickly and noted that he had not 
taken off his boots. 

She said in a changed voice : “ You’re going 

out?” 

“ I promised a man to look in and see the show at The 
Happy with him to-night. Just in the prom., you know. 
We haven’t got stalls like giddy bachelors!” 

“Osborn, can’t you stay in? It — it’s lonely all day, 
and I look forward to your coming home.” 

“ You didn’t seem to look forward very kindly last 
night.” 

She cried with hot resentment : “ I thought you didn’t 
want that mentioned again ! ” 

“Oh, very well! And I shall be in to-morrow night; 
won’t that do? A man can’t be always tied up to the 
kitchen table, you know. Besides, I promised Dicky Vendo 
I’d go; his wife’s away, and he’s free.” 

“ Yours isn’t away.” 


BEHIND THE VEIL 


131 

'' But she’s been a damned little shrew, and 
doesn’t deserve me to stay in for her. There! that’s 
what you get by arguing.” He laughed a laugh of 
vexation as much at his own ill-temper as at her 
pertinacity. 

Very well,” she said, drawing back. 

The light in the room was subdued, for the candles 
had not yet given place to the incandescent glare. He 
cast a glance at her face, but she had withdrawn to the 
shadow. 

"‘Well,” he hesitated, “night-night, in case you don’t 
sit up.” 

“ Good night,” she replied. “ I shan’t sit up.” 

“ You might make up the fire before you go to bed, 
though, there’s a dear girl.” 

She did not answer, and he went out; she followed him 
to the doorway, and stood there watching him put on 
his overcoat and muffler again. His pipe was between his 
teeth ; he removed it for a second to kiss her cheek hastily, 
then restored it. With a hysterical anger held feverishly 
in check, she thought that male imperturbability, male 
selfishness, were incredible. 

“Night-night!” he said again, going out. “I’ll bring 
you a programme.” 

The door shut. She was alone. She advanced pas- 
sionately Upon the strewn dinner-table; it waited there 
to be cleared by the work of her hands, as imperturbable 
as he. 

She dashed off the candle-shades first. 

“What a day!” she gasped. 

Early morning and the awakening in the cold, the 
brushing of grates and the lighting of fires, the sweep- 
ing and cooking, to get a man off warmed and comfort- 


MARRIED LIFE 


132 

able to business ; the long, long hours of silence and 
domestic tasks, waiting for his return; his return to his 
food; his departure again; a desolate evening of silence 
and domestic tasks — these were that span of hope and 
promise called a day. 

Married life! 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE VERY DEVIL ' 

When spring had passed, and part of the summer, the 
Osborn Kerrs did as all their neighbours did; they packed 
up their best clothes, folded the baby’s cot, swathed the 
ten-guinea perambulator, and with the baby and his cum- 
bersome impedimenta, made an exhausting effort and went 
to the sea. 

They did not go to the sea altogether lightly; it had cost 
a great deal of thought and arithmetic and discussion 
as to a stopping-place. Osborn was keen on a board- 
ing-house; he knew a jolly one where he had stayed be- 
fore, but Marie vetoed that. They wouldn’t have babies 
in boarding-houses; they wouldn’t like her keeping the 
perambulator there, and wheeling it through the hall ; 
likewise they wouldn’t like her intruding into the back 
regions with it. She knew that what one did with a 
young family was to take rooms, and cater for oneself. 
So they wrote to engage rooms, and after much corre- 
spondence found what would suit their purse, and started 
for a week by the sea. 

The baby fretted a little during its unaccustomed 
travelling, and, fretting, fretted its parents. Osborn 
was dimly annoyed with Marie for not being able to 
keep the baby up to the best standard of infantile be- 
haviour, feeling that the things he was called upon to 

133 


134 


MARRIED LIFE 


do, in a public railway carriage, made him look a fool; 
and Marie was hurt with Osborn that he should show 
so little sympathy and patience. She wrote, upon arrival, 
a letter to Mrs. Amber, which brought her down within 
a couple of days, to stay at a boarding-house within a 
stone’s throw. 

Grandmother was very good. She was always nice- 
tempered and kind and soothing. In the morning she 
came round early to the rooms in a side street, and took 
the baby out for his airing upon the promenade, so that 
Marie and Osborn might bathe together. She it was who 
persuaded their landlady to take charge of the baby for 
just one hour, one afternoon, while Marie and Osborn 
came to take fashionable tea with her at the board- 
ing-house. In the evening, when the pier was lighted 
and the band played, and the summer life of the place 
was at its giddiest, she would arrive with her comfort- 
able smile and her knitting to sit within earshot of her 
sleeping grandson while his parents went out to enjoy 
themselves. 

Marie did not know what she would have done with- 
out the wise woman upon this holiday; but when they 
talked together she was still shy of confidences, and still 
reluctant to admit any but the most modern interpreta- 
tion of the married relationship. Mrs. Amber, however, 
saw all there was to see and felt no resentment about it. 
Things were so; and they always had been. You might 
be miserable if you were married, but then you would 
have been far more miserable if you had not married. 
She pitied all spinsters profoundly. She was glad her 
daughter had found a husband and a home ; and she 
would not have dreamed of combating Osborn. He was 
that strange, wilful despotic thing, a man. She would 


THE VERY DEVIL ” 


135 

have handed him without contest that dangerous weapon 
of complete power over a woman and her children. Mrs. 
Amber propitiated Osborn; she pleased and flattered him; 
and her judgment of him was that he was far better than 
he might have been. 

Grannie travelled back with them to town, and she was 
very useful during the journey. She kept a strict eye 
upon the hand-luggage and nursed the baby, while Marie 
and Osborn smiled together over the sketches in a hu- 
morous weekly. Their money was all spent, and they 
were really half -relieved to be going back to the flat, where 
they need not keep up that air of being so very pleased 
with every detail of a rather strained holiday. They would 
meet other people they knew, who had similarly enjoyed 
themselves, and would cry: 

Have you been away? We’re just back. We went 
to Littlehampton and had a gorgeous time! We had such 
awf’ly comfortable rooms, not actually on the front, but 
within a minute’s walk. We prefer rooms to an hotel. 
We enjoyed ourselves tremendously. Where did you 
go?” 

Mrs. Amber was with Marie a great deal during the 
rest of that hot summer; she had waited for the close 
intimacy of the honeymoon time, of the first year, to 
wear away; she had bided her hour very patiently. When 
the husband began — as he would — to go out for an 
hour after dinner, just to meet a friend, and would 
stay two — three, four hours perhaps, then the mother 
had come into her own again. Sitting with the strangely- 
quietened Marie by the open windows of the pale 
sitting-room — which they could use again with per- 
fect economy during the summer weather — Mrs. Amber 
was well content with the way of things. She knitted 


MARRIED LIFE 


136 

placidly for baby George all the while, and Marie, who 
hated knitting, sewed for him. 

They were evenings such as Mrs. Amber the young 
wife used to spend with her own mother, while young 
Mr. Amber betook himself to the strange and unexplained 
haunts of men. 

And on one of these evenings, while the weather was 
still warm enough to sit looking out into the darkness 
through the opened windows, but when an autumn haze 
had begun to hang again about the night, Marie had some- 
thing to tell her mother, which had blanched her cheek and 
moistened her eyes all day. 

Mother, I don't know what you’ll think, but — I’m 
going to have another baby.” 

''Oh — my — dear!” said Mrs. Amber. 

The two women gazed into each other’s eyes, and while 
a half-pleased expression stole through the solicitude in 
Mrs. Amber’s, Marie’s were wide with fear. 

" Are you sure, duck? ” said the elder woman, her knit- 
ting dropped in her lap. 

" Sure,” Marie murmured hoarsely. " I’ve been 
afraid — and I waited before I told you. But I’m sure. 
It — it’ll be next summer — in the hot weather, just when 
we’d have been going away to the sea. We shan’t be 
able to afford to go to Littlehampton next year.” 

" An only child,” said Mrs. Amber comfortingly, " is 
a mistake. It’s almost cruel to have an only child. You’ll 
be much better with two than one.” 

" How can you say so ? All that to go through 
again ” 

" Oh, duck, I know ! But it won’t be so bad next time ; 
anyone’ll tell you that. Ask your doctor.” 

" I shan’t have the doctor till I’m obliged.” 


THE VERY DEVIL ” 


137 


Tm sure Osborn would wish you to ” 

‘‘How do you know what Osborn would wish?’^ And 
she said as so many rebellious women have said before 
her : “ He promised I should never have another. He 
was crying. Tve never told you before, but he was. He 
cried; and promised me.'’ 

“ Cried ! " Mrs. Amber echoed aghast. “ Poor fellow, 
oh, poor fellow! Osborn has a very good heart. The 
dear boy ! " 

“ What about me, mother? Where's your sympathy for 
me? I cried, too." 

“We're different." 

“ No, we aren't. And he promised 

“ Oh, my duck," said Mrs. Amber in a voice of con- 
fidential bustle, “ that's not to be depended on. Men al- 
ways promise these things; I've known it scores of times. 
But it doesn't do to depend upon them, love." 

“ I despise men." 

“ Oh, don't say that, like Miss Winter. I never did 
approve of that girl." 

“ She's wiser than I. She won't marry." 

“ I guess she hasn't had the chance," said Mrs. Amber, 
with the disbelief of the old married woman in spinster 
charms. 

“ Oh, yes, she has, mother. She's had several chances. 
But she knows when she's lucky ; she's her own mis- 
tress, and she has her own money and her free- 
dom." 

“ She's missing a great deal ; and some day she'll know 
it." 

“ She knows it now, thank you. She knows she's miss- 
ing illness and pain and poverty and worry, and the whims 
and fancies and bad tempers of a husband," 


MARRIED LIFE 


138 

Mrs. Amber said soothingly: Now, now, my dear, 
you’re not yourself, or you wouldn’t say such things. It’s 
every woman’s duty to marry if she can and have chil- 
dren. As to your husband, it’s no use expecting any- 
thing of men but what you get; and the sooner you realise 
it, my love, the happier you’ll be.” 

I’ll never realise it ! ” Marie fired. 

Then you’ll never settle down contentedly as you ought 

to.” 

Why ought I, mother? ” 

Because there’s nothing else to be done,” replied Mrs. 
Amber sensibly. 

‘‘You’re right there,” Marie moaned, with her fore- 
head against the chair back, “ there’s nothing else to be 
done.” 

“ What does Osborn say now about a second 
baby? ” 

“ He doesn’t know.” 

Mrs. Amber paused and thought before she said: “ You 
ought to tell him at once, my dear. It’s possible — he 
might be pleased.” 

“ He’ll be anything but pleased. I dread telling 
him.” 

“ Oh, my duck ! ” said Mrs. Amber helplessly. 

Marie enumerated : “ He’ll hate the expense, and the 
worry, and my illness, and the discomforts he’ll have while 
I’m ill. He’ll hate everything.” 

“ Men do, of course, poor things,” Mrs. Amber com- 
mented with sympathy. 

“ Poor things ! ” Marie flared. “ I’d like to ” 

“ No, you wouldn’t like to do anything unkind, love. 
And when you’ve got your dear little new baby you’ll 
love it, and be just as pleased with it as you are with 


THE VERY DEVIL ” 139 

George. You will, my dear; there’s no gainsaying it, be- 
cause we women are made that way.” 

I know,” said Marie very sorrowfully. 

Mrs. Amber regarded her knitting thoughtfully, then 
she dropped it to regard her daughter thoughtfully. She 
rose and shut the windows against the now chill night 
air of October, and drawing the curtains, made the room 
look cosy. She looked at the fire laid ready in the 
grate, but unlighted, and puckered her eyebrows doubt- 
fully. 

The dining-room fire isn’t lighted either, is it, 
duck?” 

No mother. When Osborn goes out in the evenings, 
I don’t light one just for myself after these warm 
days.” 

You should, my love. Really you should make your- 
self more comfortable.” 

Now, mother. I’m sure you never lighted fires for 
yourself when father was out, unless it was to keep all 
the pipes in the place from freezing solid. I’m sure you 
screwed and skimped and saved and worried along, as 
all we other fools of women do.” 

Mrs. Amber did not deny this, knowing it to be true; 
she said something remote, however, about the pleasure 
of women being duty, and their duty sacrifice. 

Marie remained limp in her chair. 

“ The point is, mother, that I don’t know how to tell 
Osborn.” 

Well, my love, let me tell him.” 

'‘Oh, mother,” said Marie, "would you?” 

" I’ll tell him with pleasure. You go to bed, and I’ll 
wait here to tell him when he comes in.” 

" Supposing he’s very late ? ” 


140 


MARRIED LIFE 


He won’t be later than the last Tube train. I shall 
get home comfortably, my love; don’t you worry about 
me. We old women can take care of ourselves, you know. 
It’s ten o’clock, and you go off to bed.” 

I don’t know that I want to, mother.” 

‘‘ Shoo ! ” said Mrs. Amber. 

When Marie was in bed, her mother went to the din- 
ing-room, established herself in an armchair, and put a 
match to the fire. Her husband being long dead, she 
regarded her own sacrificial days as over, and she re- 
mained tolerably comfortable on what he had left behind 
him. In the days of his life, the money had taken him 
away to those vague haunts of men; but now it solaced, 
every penny of it, his widow. As she sat by the kindled 
fire, Mrs. Amber resumed her knitting, and as she knitted 
she wondered fondly what the new baby would be like; 
whether it would be boy or girl, and just exactly what 
piece of work she had better get in hand against its ar- 
rival. 

So Osborn Kerr, arriving home not very late — it was 
only just after eleven o’clock — found his mother-in-law 
seated alone upon his hearth, needles flying over one of 
the pale blue jerseys in which little George was to win- 
ter. 

She greeted his stare of astonishment placidly, with her 
propitiating smile and deceitful words: 

I thought you would be cold, Osborn, so I put a match 
to the fire.” 

Oh, thanks,” said Osborn, thanks very much. 
Where’s Marie?” 

She’s gone to bed.” 

Gone to bed, and left you here by yourself!” Then 
a thought assailed him : I say,” he asked himself, is 


THE VERY DEVIL 


she — is she staying behind to give me a talking-to about 
anything? WhatVe I done now?^’ 

The question made him antagonistic, and he looked at 
her keenly. 

''Are you — are you staying the night?’’ he asked; 
" because, if so. Til just take my things out of the dress- 
ing-room into our room, unless you have done it? ” 

She lifted her hands. " Oh, my dear boy, I shouldn’t 
dream of putting you so about! It is only that I stayed 
to tell you a little bit of news which Marie semed a trifle 
reluctant to tell you.” 

She put her head on one side and looked at him smil- 
ingly. There was no sign upon her face to tell him how 
anxious her heart was, nor how she had offered up a 
prayer as his latchkey clicked in the lock : " Oh, Lord, don’t 
let him be angry; let him be very kind to Marie, for Christ’s 
sake ! Amen.” 

"If there’s anything Marie can’t tell me herself ” 

In her most propitiatory voice she said, smiling up at 
the young man, " Can’t you guess? I expect you do know, 
don’t you, though Marie thinks you don’t?” 

Osborn sat down. 

"I can’t possibly guess. Is it a puzzle, at this time of 
night?” 

" It is not a puzzle,” said Mrs. Amber, overflowing with 
feeling so that she had to remove and wipe her glasses; 
" it is just the most natural and ordinary and beautiful 
thing in the world.” 

He sat forward quickly, beginning to have some glimmer 
of her significance. 

"You can't mean ” 

"You and Marie are going to be blessed with another 
child.” 


142 


MARRIED LIFE 


‘ Blessed ’ ? ’’ said Osborn, after a short pause, 
‘‘‘blessed’?’’ 

“ Blessed ! ” repeated Mrs. Amber anxiously. 

“ Some people,” said Osborn, “ have rum ideas about 
blessings.” 

“ Won’t you go in and see Marie and tell her you’re 
pleased ? ” 

“ Is she awake ? ” 

“ I expect she is ; most women would be,” said Mrs. 
Amber slowly. 

She began with extreme care to roll up her knitting 
while she awaited his further words; she did not look at 
him, but glanced about the room, as if seeking some happy 
idea which she could clothe in the right and most acceptable 
words. 

“Does she expect me to be pleased?” Osborn asked. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Amber confidentially, “ between you 
and me, she doesn’t; and that’s why I offered to tell you, 
Osborn. She didn’t like to.” 

“ Poor girl,” said Osborn soberly. 

He stared in front of him, whistling softly. “ Life’s 
queer,” he uttered abruptly; “marriage seems so gay at 
the beginning, and then — all these infernal complications. 
There’s always things nibbling at one; they never seem 
to stop. When you’ve weathered one squall another gets 
up on top of the first. . . .” 

“ There must be a great deal of give-and-take in mar- 
riage,” began Mrs. Amber. “ I’m as old as both of you 
put together, and I assure you that everyone has to make 
sacrifices, and try to do their duty cheerfully, and welcome 
the children whom God sends them.” 

A little derision curled Osborn’s lips. 

“ I’m afraid these mere platitudes are no solid help.” 


THE VERY DEVIL ” 


143 

Mrs. Amber murmured protestingly, but, not knowing 
what a platitude was, felt she could not follow up the sub- 
ject. She rose and picked up her coat from a chair back, 
and wrapped herself up to face the night. 

Tell Marie you’re pleased,” she coaxed. 

But she knows Fm not,” said Osborn gloomily, and 
neither will she' be. One child on our income is enough. 
It would be different if we had plenty of money, but 
we haven’t. Why, a family in this flat! This flat with 
two bedrooms ! Imagine it ! When Qod sends these 
blessings, as you infer He does. He should build rooms 
for ’em. I can’t.” 

"‘Oh, don’t!” Mrs. Amber implored, “don’t! Fm not 
superstitious, but — ” she looked around her and shuddered 
— “ but you ought not to say such things. It isn’t right. 
People must make sacriflces.” 

“ Don’t say it all over again.” 

She went with her waddling gait, agitatedly, to the 
door. 

“ Good night,” she said. “ Be very, very kind to Marie, 
won’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t need anyone to tell me how to treat my own 
wife,” he replied stiffly. 

“ Oh, Osborn, don’t be offended.” 

“ Fm not offended,” he said shortly. “ Good night, and 
thanks for staying in, and lighting the fire and all 
that.” 

He did not remain to watch her slow progress down 
the stone stairs, but closed the door and went back to the 
fire. He pulled out his pipe, filled and lighted it. There 
descended upon him that feeling of hopeless exaspera- 
tion which many a young man has felt in many such a 
situation. When one married did one’s liabilities never 


144 


MARRIED LIFE 


cease? Did they never even remain stationary, allowing 
a man to settle his course and keep to it, in spite of the 
boredom involved? Would life be always just a constant 
ringing of the changes on paying the rent, paying the in- 
stalment on the furniture, paying the doctor, paying the 
nurse, paying to go for one anxious week to Littlehamp- 
ton? Wasn’t there some alternative? 

All a man appeared able to do was to escape for furtive 
minutes from his chains, to steal furtive shillings from his 
obligations and spend them otherwise. 

A lot of men seemed to keep sane under the most un- 
favourable conditions. 

When Osborn had sucked his pipe to the very last draw, 
he got up with a heavy sigh, stretched himself, took the 
coal off the fire to effect the minute saving, and went 
to undress. He wondered whether Marie really was still 
awake. 

She was, and she was lying wide-eyed and watchful 
for him. As he opened the door cautiously he heard the 
rustle of her head moving on the pillow, and then the 
movement of her whole body turning towards him. Her 
anxiety filled the air with the sense of one poignant ques- 
tion: Do you know?” 

In answer to her unspoken inquiry he went at once to 
her side, and laid his hand upon her head, where the hair, 
smoothly parted for the night, looked sleek and innocent 
like a little girl’s. 

^^Your mother told me,” he began; then he bent and 
kissed her. '' I’m awf’ly sorry. I s’pose we’ve got to make 
the best of it, old thing. I will if you will. It’s the very 
devil, isn’t it? ” 

Yes,” she sighed. 


CHAPTER XIV 


DRIFTING 

The second baby came in the middle of a blazing sum- 
mer, unheralded by the hopes, by the buds and blos- 
soms of loving thought, which had opened upon the first 
child’s advent. Marie was remorsefully tender over it, 
but Osborn continued to be one long uninterrupted sigh. 
The doctor and nurse seemed to him voracious, greedy 
creatures seeking for his life-blood. His second child 
was born at midnight. He came in one day at 6.30 
with the fear in his heart men know round and about 
these agitating times, and found that fear was justified. 
The nurse had already been sent for, the doctor had 
looked in once, and the grandmother, fierce and tearful, 
was putting the first baby to bed. She put it to bed in 
Osborn’s dressing-room, intimating that he would be re- 
sponsible for it during the night for the next three weeks, 
anyway. 

He could not bear it. He went in and kissed the silent, 
stone-white Marie, looked resentfully at George, answered 
his mother-in-law at random, and hurried out again. He 
was shivering. He remembered too well now that day 
which, too easily, he had forgotten. 

He neither ate nor drank ; he walked the Heath 
madly. He told himself that not for hundreds of 
precious pounds would he wait in that flat, wait for the 

145 


MARRIED LIFE 


146 

sounds of anguish which would inevitably rise and echo 
about those circumscribed walls. The July sun went 
down; the moon rose up and found him still walking; still 
fearing and wondering. 

He supposed he was a coward; he could not help it. 

It was after twelve o’clock when at last he went home. 
He went because he suddenly remembered they had left 
George in his charge, and while there was little he could 
do for Marie, he could at least be faithful to that trust. 
He came back shivering as he had gone out; and as he 
fitted his latchkey with cold fingers into the lock he heard 
the newborn infant’s wail. 

The nurse looked out into the corridor at the sound of 
his entrance; she raised her finger, enjoining silence, and 
smiled. She was the same nurse who had helped to usher 
baby George into the world, and who had been so serenely 
certain that they would send for her again. 

She vanished once more into Marie’s room. 

Osborn crept along the corridor and took off his boots; 
he was tired out, but still he felt no hunger. Had he 
been hungry he would have somehow thought it an act 
of criminal grossness to forage for food. There was 
none to attend to -him, for Mrs. Amber, having waited to 
reassure herself of her daughter’s safety, had been 
obliged to take the last Tube train home since there was 
not room for her at the flat. He was about to undress 
when the nurse came along the corridor and tapped at 
his door. 

He knew what she had come for. Once again, with 
that air of lase cheerfulness she summoned him to his 
wife’s bedside, and once again he stood there looking 
down upon Marie as she lay there, quiet and worn. Her 
quietness was the most striking thing about her. She 


DRIFTING 


147 

looked at him steadily and remotely, as if he were a 
stranger, but with less interest; there was even a little 
hostility about her regard. It seemed a long while ago 
since he had fallen beside her bed and wept with her over 
the catastrophic forces of Nature; they were both ages 
older; as if a fog had drifted between them, their hearts 
were obscured from each other. Generations and gener- 
ations of battle, so old as to be timeless, marked the ground 
between them. 

He spoke hesitatingly, saying: 

"‘How do you feel, dear?’’ 

“ I’m — glad it’s over.” 

“ So’m I.” 

“You managed to escape?” 

He looked at her hastily, a little red creeping over his 
pallid face. She spoke almost as to a deserter. “ I 
couldn’t have done any good,” he said. 

She smiled and closed her eyes, as though against 
him. It was not a natural smile, it drew her lips 
tight. 

“ What could I do ? ” he asked her pleadingly. 

She opened her eyes again and looked at him in that 
remote and quiet regard. 

“ Men are queer. If you had been suffering, I would 
never have run away.” 

He wanted to expostulate, to explain how different 
such a case would be; how, as a matter of course, a wife’s 
place was beside her husband in good and ill, most 
particularly ill — but he did not find the heart to do it. 
She looked so fatigued and was so deadly quiet. He 
felt at a loss, and looked around vaguely till his eye 
lighted on the cot. There, beneath the muslin and rib- 
bon which had at last been crisply laundered, lay a bur- 


148 MARRIED LIFE 

den, now minute, but about to cling and grow like an Old 
Man of the Sea. 

"‘How’s the baby?” he asked, tiptoeing to it. 

“ It’s a girl,” said Marie ; “ I expect you’ve been 
told.” 

He had not been told, having made no inquiry. Here 
again the story-books which had informed him of roman- 
tic life in his very young days had been at fault; they 
made such an idealised picture of all that had just taken 
place, and they told about the joy in the heart of a man 
and the ecstasy in the heart of a woman. Osborn looked 
down upon a tiny, red and crumpled face. 

“ I expect she’ll grow up as pretty as her mother,” he 
said with an effort, “ but now she’s — she’s curious, isn’t 
she?” 

With what relief he hailed the return of the nurse? It 
was so late that she was stern and cross and cold with him 
as she shut him out. 

Little George awoke at the sounds, cautious though 
they were, of his father’s undressing, and, crying for 
mummie, could not be consoled until lifted out, and 
wildly and clumsily petted and lied to, and cajoled. Even 
then he did not trust this daddy who was such a stranger 
in the house; who was only jolly by fits and starts 
when they all woke up in the pink room in the morn- 
ings; who hid behind a paper at breakfast, and who, 
going away in a hurry directly afterwards, only re- 
turned after George was asleep, or simulating sleep 
under threat of a slapping. The baby missed his 
mother’s loving arms and cried miserably, hunched un- 
comfortably in Osborn’s. But at last he must sleep 
through sheer drowsiness, and they both went to bed. 
In the morning Osborn dressed him before he went 


DRIFTING 


149 

away, and was called upon to make himself gener- 
ally useful, and made to memorise a string of 
errands. 

The nurse would have no nonsense. She demanded and 
he complied. 

He cursed her within himself. What a pack! 

During those days once more Desmond was good to 
him, sheltering him at his club, inviting him to play golf, 
or to run out into the country with him in his two-seater. 
Once they took George because the nurse was so firmly 
decided that they should do so, and they stayed out 
past his bedtime, and tired him out, and made him fur- 
ious. 

‘‘ It’s a gay life 1 ” said Osborn to Rokeby, ‘‘ a gay life, 
what?” 

Marie sent the nurse away at the end of three weeks, 
and tackled her increased household alone. She was un- 
able to nurse the baby, and the doctor ordered it to be 
fed upon the patent food which George used to have, so 
she was obliged to ask Osborn to increase the housekeep- 
ing allowance. 

They discussed long and seriously the ways and 
means to the increase and the amount of it. Half a 
crown,” was her reiteration ; on half a crown I’d do it 
somehow.” 

And he asked: ^‘Yes! But where’s the half-crown to 
come from ? ” 

'‘You must find it,” she said at last. 

With compressed lips and lowering brow the young man 
thought it out. “ I give you all I can ” 

“ And I take as little as I can.” 

" I’m sick of these discussions about money.” 

“ So’m I.” 


MARRIED LIFE 


150 

It seems as if we were sick of the whole thing, doesn't 
it?" 

Being a woman, she dared not confirm verbally those 
reckless words; their very recklessness caused her to fear. 
If they were sick of the whole thing — well, what about 
it? What were they to do? They were in it, weren't 
they, up to their necks?* Of two people who mutually 
recognised the plight, only one must foam and rage and 
stutter out unpalatable truths about it; it was for the other 
to pour on the oil, to deceive and pretend and propitiate 
and cajole, to try to keep things running and the creaking 
machinery at work. 

Because — what else remained to do ? 

But when Osborn rapped out: ‘‘It seems as if we were 
sick of the whole thing, doesn't it?" though she would 
not confirm this in words, her silence confirmed it, her 
silence and her look. They made him hesitate and catch 
his breath. 

Well?" he asked. 

“ I'm not going to say such things." 

“But you know they're true, don't you?" he asked in 
despair. 

“ You ought to think, as I do, that the babies are worth 
it all." 

“ When two people begin telling each other what they 
ought to do, they're reaching the limit." 

“ You've often told me what I ought to do." 

“ I don’t know what's coming to women." 

“ A revolution ! " 

“ Rubbish! " said Osborn. “Women have no power to 
revolt, and no reason either." 

“ It's true we've no power; that's what keeps most of us 
quiet." 


DRIFTING 


151 

I wish it would keep you quiet.’’ 

"'You see, I can’t help it, can I? Keeping quiet doesn’t 
ask you for this other half-crown, and I’ve got to ask 
you. I can’t help it.” 

“I daresay not,” he admitted reluctantly. "But ” 

" Can I have it? ” she asked doggedly. 

"Oh, take it!” he flared, flung half-a-crown on the 
table, rose, and went out. She sat for a while looking 
at the half-crown, then she took it in her hand, and wanted 
to pitch it into the street for the first beggar to profit by, 
but, remembering that she was a beggar too, she kept 
it. 

Osborn entered into further discussion of the matter in 
a reasonable vein. 

" Half-a-crown a week’s six pound ten a year. Sure 
you can’t manage without? ” 

" How do you mean? ” 

"Well, lots of women have to — to — manage.” 

" There’s a limit even to management.” 

" I suppose there is. Very well.” 

" You mean I’m to have it? ” 

" All right.” 

" Thank you very much, dear,” said Marie very slowly 
after a while. 

" You don’t seem in a particular hurry to say it.” 

"Why should I say it?” 

" What! when I’ve just arranged to give you six pound 
ten ” 

"To feed your daughter.” 

" Oh, well ” 

" Anyway, I have said it. I’ve said " Thank you very 
much,’ haven’t I? Do you want me to show more grati- 
tude?” 


152 


MARRIED LIFE 


It beats me to think what’s come over women.” 

They sat on either side of their hearth looking at one 
another in unconcealed bewilderment. 

''If you cared to let me make out a budget, Osborn,” 
she said suddenly, " I think we could arrange it all better. 
So much for everything, you know.” 

"Oh, yes, I know! I know all about it, thanks! If 
you want to dole out my pocket-money, my dear. I’m 
off. . . . I’m completely off it! No, thank you. I’ll keep 
my hands on my own income.” 

" I only meant ” 

" Women never seem satisfied,” said Osborn wrath- 
fully. 

As he looked at her sitting there, thin and fair and 
reserved as she never used to be, with the sheen of her 
glossy hair almost vanished, and all of her pretty 
insouciance gone, he saw no more the gay girl, the wifely 
comrade, whom he had married. In her place sat the im- 
memorial hag, the married man’s bane, the blood-sucker, 
the enemy, the asker. 

She had taken from him a sum equivalent to twice his 
weekly tobacco-money. 

The sacrifice of all his tobacco would not provide for 
that red and crumpled baby lying in its fine basket. He 
took that as a comparison, with no intention of sacrific- 
ing his tobacco; but it just gave one the figures in- 
volved. 

As if feeling through her reserve the gist of his thoughts, 
she smiled. 

" Poor old Osborn ! ” she said. 

" You can stretch an income, and stretch it,” said Os- 
born, " but it isn’t eternally elastic, you know.” 

I know it!” 


DRIFTING 


153 

Well, all I ask you to do,’' said Osborn, ‘‘ is to remem- 
ber it.” 

Then life went round as before, except that a great 
anxiety as to meeting the weekly bills fell upon Marie. 
Sometimes they were a shilling up and sometimes a shill- 
ing down. The day when the greasy books fell through 
the letter-box into the hall was a day to add a grey hair 
to the brightest head. 

With two babies to dress, she rose earlier; she swept 
and dusted and cooked quicker; she sent Osborn off to 
his work as punctually as before; she wheeled two in- 
fants instead of one out in the grey perambulator to the 
open-air marked. And there her bargaining became 
sharp, thin and shrewish. She fought the merchants 
smartly, and sometimes she won and sometimes they. Dur- 
ing the day Grannie Amber usually came in and lent a 
hand about the babies’ bedtime. At 6.30 Osborn came 
home, a little peevish until after dinner. After dinner 
he went out again if the new baby cried or if anything 
went wrong. Once a quarter the demand for the rent 
came upon him like a fresh blow; once a month he paid 
the furniture instalment; once a week he gave up, like 
life-blood, thirty-two and sixpence to her whose palm was 
always ready. 

“It’s a gay life!” he often said with a twisted smile. 
“ A gay life, what? ” 


CHAPTER XV 


SURRENDER 

Grannie Amber was afraid — she did not know exactly 
why — that, the year following the second baby's arrival, 
Osborn would forget Marie's birthday, and she was anx- 
ious that it should not be forgotten. Though she her- 
self had, early in her married life, grown tired and quiet, 
had early learned to bargain shrewishly with the mer- 
chants of the cheaper foods and, after the first three years, 
had always had her birthdays forgotten; though she had 
been perfectly willing and ready to urge her daughter 
into the life domestic, upon a small income, yet re- 
grets took her and sighs, all of perfect resignation, when 
she saw the darkness under Marie's eyes, when she stood 
by in the market and heard her hard chaffering, when 
she noted the worried crinkles come to stay in her brow. 
So that, resolving that Osborn should not forget, natural 
as it would have been for him, in her judgment, to do 
so, she trailed his wife's birthday across his path a fort- 
night before the actual day, wishing in her thoughtful- 
ness to give him the chance to save from two weeks' salary 
for some gift. 

She sewed in his presence and, as she sewed, entered 
into a full explanation of her work: This little skirt, 
Osborn, is for Marie's birthday. I hope I'll get it done 
in time; there's only a fortnight, as you know." 

154 


SURRENDER 


155 

He did not know; the fact had slipped his memory 
in the ceaseless dream of other liabilities due; but as he 
looked at Grannie Amber, and the purple silk petticoat 
which she was finely sewing, he assumed a perfect memory 
of the occasion. 

He answered: was just going to ask Marie what 

she’d like for it.” 

There are a lot of things she’d like,” Mrs. Amber 
began. 

That same evening, when Grannie Amber had rolled 
up the purple petticoat into her workbag and departed, he 
asked Marie, as they sat together over the fire : 

‘‘What would you like for your birthday, my dear?” 

A great pleasure shone in her face as she gazed at 
him. 

“ Osborn,” she stammered, “ can you afford to give me 
a present at all ? ” 

“ I should hope so,” he replied. 

An eagerness, which he had not seen there for a long 
while, invaded her face; it was an eagerness of pleasure 
at his remembrance, at his wish to be kind and to give 
her happiness. About the gift she was not so precious; 
she hoped it would be small, and she said, almost reverT 
entially : 

“ I’d rather you chose, dear.” 

“ I’d been thinking,” said Osborn, who had thought of 
it during dinner, “ that you might like to be taken out. 
How would that do for a present? Of course I’d like 
to do both — to take you out and give you a swagger gift 
— but we know it can’t be done, don’t we?” 

“Of course. Of course, my dear.” 

“You’d like to go out to dinner? And perhaps we 
could go somewhere after, too.” 


MARRIED LIFE 


156 

The dinner will be enough, Osborn. Oh ! it will be 
lovely ! ’’ 

Righto ! he said. ‘‘I — I do wish I could take you 
out oftener, but you know 

‘‘ Of course I know, Osborn.’' 

She thought with excitement of the charming few hours 
which they would snatch from routine, together, a 
fortnight hence. She spoke of it to Mrs. Amber, care- 
lessly, with a high-beating heart and secret, delicious thrills : 

We’re dining out on my birthday, mother, if you won’t 
mind spending the evening here in case the children 
wake.” 

‘‘Oh, duck!” cried Mrs. Amber, “oh, my love! I’ll 
be delighted. Mind you enjoy yourselves very much 
and don’t hurry home. Grandmothers are made to be 
useful.” 

Nearly every spare minute of every day during those 
intervening weeks Marie spent in renovating a frock. She 
had vast ideas, but no money except a few shillings 
hoarded only a woman knows how, in spite of the press- 
ing claims of the greasy books. Her wedding frock, four 
years old, emerged from the tissue paper where it had 
lain tljese many months, yellowed and soiled, in dire 
need of the cleaner’s ministrations or the dyer’s art. 
Marie could not afford the cleaner, and did not dare 
the wash-tub and soap, but she bought one of those four- 
penny-ha’penny dyes with which impecunious women 
achieve amazing results, wherewith she dyed the frock, 
and the bath, and her own hands a shade of blue satis- 
factory at least by artificial light. Under it she would 
wear the purple petticoat, whose flounces would cause 
the skirt to sway and swing in the present mode, and 
she would evolve herself a hat. She folded a news- 


SURRENDER 


157 

paper round, shaped it to her head, covered it with black 
velvet, borrowed a great old cameo clasp of her mother's, 
and had a turban, a saucy thing whose rake brought back 
for a while the lamp to her eyes and the rose to her cheek. 
The housemaid's gloves and the rubber gloves had never 
been renewed, and the supply of Julia's wornout suedes 
could not cope with the destruction of them at No. 30, 
so that Marie's fine hands were fine no longer. They 
were reddened and roughened and thickened like the 
hands of other household women, but each afternoon in 
the slow fortnight she sat down to careful manicuring. 
When the result of these pains was fulfilled; when she 
stood before the glass in her pink bedroom gasping at 
her reflection, she could have sung and danced and wept 
in this glad renewal of her youth. 

She had rendezvous with Osborn at the chosen 
restaurant at seven. Never, it seemed to her, had she 
felt lighter-footed and lighter-hearted. It was as if the 
old days were back, the old days when an unlessoned girl 
met an unlessoned man to dream of heaven together, 
in some restaurant room full of the lessons and sophistries 
of love. Westwards she travelled by Tube, emerged 
at Leicester Square, and walked on flying feet p^ast the 
Haymarket, across the great stream of traffic at the 
top, into Shaftesbury Avenue, and into the foyer of a 
famous restaurant. She sat down on a velvet couch, 
snuggled her furs around her, and felt a lady of luxury. 
Osborn kept her waiting some ten minutes, but soon the 
damper which that put upon her spirits evaporated, leav- 
ing her all pure bliss. It was entrancing to sit here once 
more — where she had often kept Osborn sitting in the 
old days of her imperiousness and his humility — and 
to watch the well-dressed people come in and out, pass 


MARRIED LIFE 


158 

to and fro, and enact scenes which suggested the gaudiest 
stories to her receptive mind. Light and warmth, rich 
colour and abundant life flowed there like tides, and 
many servants stood about the foyer to obey her be- 
hests. 

The restaurant to Marie was revel and entertainment, 
and when the slight blankness with which his lateness 
had oppressed her had been overswayed by her enjoy- 
ment, she could have wished to sit here for hours, 
doing nothing, saying nothing, eating nothing, but 
just breathing in this atmosphere of wealth and 
ease. 

But Osborn came, hurrying, between seven and seven- 
fifteen, apology on his lips. A man had come in late 
to buy a car and they had talked. . . . never was there 
such a long-winded customer. He took Marie's arm 
lightly in his hand, hurried her in, and chose a table, 
the nearest vacant one. He dropped into his seat and 
passed his hand over his brow and eyes to brush away 
the daze of fatigue. He was tired and very, very hun- 
gry, too hungry to watch with his old appreciation 
the dainty movements of his wife, as she shrugged 
her furs from her shoulders, and drew off her white 
gloves, and smiled at him radiantly, with the sense of 
those dear, old, lost, spoiled-girl days returning momentarily 
to her. 

Osborn's brows were knitted over the wine-list and his 
hand moved restlessly in his pocket. Very carefully he 
considered and weighed the prices and at last gave his order 
quickly. 

Half a bottle of '93/' Leaning slightly towards his 
wife, he added : I'm afraid it can't be a bottle of the one 
and only these days, kiddie." 


SURRENDER 


159 

Not now that we're family people ! " she cried 
bravely. 

While he leaned back quietly, awaiting the arrival of 
the first course, and, could she have known it, craving 
the food with the keen craving of the man who has 
lunched too lightly, she looked at her hands, from which 
the white gloves were now removed. A pang, not alto- 
gether new, but of renewed sharpness, shot through her, 
as she looked down at the reddened, hardened fingers 
with the slight vegetable stains upon them, clasped to- 
gether on the table edge. Where were the nails trained 
and kept to an exquisite filbert shape? The oval of the 
cuticles? The slender softness and coolness of the fin- 
ger-tips? The backs of the hands were roughened and 
the palms seamed; there was a tiny crack at a finger- 
joint; it seemed to her that the spoiling of her beautiful 
hands had made so insidious a pace through these years 
that she had, day by day, been almost unaware of the 
havoc in progress. But looking down upon them in this 
place of ease and grace, she saw, surprised and sorrow- 
ful, the whole of the sad mischief. Her hands were as 
the hands of a scullery-maid taken out, most unsuit- 
ably, to dinner. While Osborn still awaited the first 
course, she drew her hands down and hid them on her 
lap. There was time enough to display their effect 
when they must emerge for the use of the table imple- 
ments. 

Surrounding her were women whose white hands, 
jewelled and un jewelled, played about their business, lovely 
as pale and delicate flowers. She cast her glances right 
and left, seeing them and envying. And she looked 
at their clothes, their smart and slender shoes, the 
richness of their cloaks hanging over chair backs, and 


i6o MARRIED LIFE 

she saw her own frock as it was, dyed and mended and 
demode. 

She knew. It looked nice when I tried it on at home 
because there were no comparisons. Here, where there's 
competition, I — I'm hopeless. I'd better have worn a 
suit." 

Her turban, that thing which had paraded so saucily 
in the pink room while the babies slept regardless, was an 
outsider — a gamin among hats. 

She was not the first woman who has decked herself at 
home to her own gratification, to emerge into a wealthier 
world to her own despair. 

While these things were borne in, with the flashlight 
speed of woman's impressions, upon her brain, the first 
course arrived and they ate. After it, Osborn roused him- 
self to talk. He asked her several times if she were en- 
joying herself, and she told him with smiling lips that she 
was. 

‘"It's not so often that we go out, is it?" he remarked. 
“ We must make the best of the times we get." 

“ This is lovely.'' 

“Poor old girl!" said Osborn, “you don't get out on 
the loose very much, do you? But I don't suppose you 
want to, though; women are different from men. A 
woman's interest centres in her home, and you've quite 
enough to do to keep your mind occupied, haven't 
you? " 

“ And my hands. Look at them ! " 

She spread them before him. 

“ Poor old girl ! " said Osborn, looking. 

A recollection stirred in him, too, of what those hands 
had been in the days of their romance. “You used to 
have the prettiest hands I ever saw," he said. 


SURRENDER i6i 

She snatched them petulantly under the table again. 

Don’t 

Don’t what? ’’ 

“ Don’t — say that! I can’t bear to think how ugly I’m 
getting.” 

Her husband looked at her with a faint, bewildered 
smile. ‘"Come!” he adjured her, ''you mustn’t get mor- 
bid. You’re not ugly, you silly girl. You were one of 
the prettiest girls I ever saw.” 

" But nowf ” 

"Now?” He looked at her quickly. "You’re as 
pretty as ever you were, of course.” 

" I’m not,” she denied, reading the lie in his eyes. 

" Women are bound to change, no doubt,” he conceded. 
" I daresay having the babies aged you a bit. But you 
needn’t get anxious about your looks yetf^ 

" I’m not thirty, but I look it.” 

" No, no, you don’t,” he said constrainedly. 

She smiled, and contented herself with watching him 
eat the next course while she toyed with it. As a woman, 
food meant little to her; she was concerned more with the 
prettiness of its serving; but Osborn was avidly hungry 
and his enjoyment was palpable. 

She thought : " Poor boy ! How he likes the good things 
of life! And how few of them he gets! He oughtn’t to 
have married.” 

She looked around her again, and saw, a little way 
across the floor, a gay woman in black. Her hair and 
eyes were black, her complexion was white, her lips were 
red. She had with her two men who worshipped. Of her 
Marie said to herself : 

"She’s older than I, but she’s keeping her looks; her 
hands are not so nice as mine used to be, but now they’re 


MARRIED LIFE 


162 

far nicer. She’s keeping herself young and gay; she sees 
to it that she’s pampered. But if she had married a poor 
man, and had two babies, and had been obliged to do all 
the chores, I wonder. . . 

What interests you, my dear?” Osborn asked. 

She told him in a fitful, inarticulate way. “ I was 
looking at that woman over there, the one in black, with 
the diamond comb in her hair. And — and I was won- 
dering — in a way — I can hardly explain — what is 
really the best thing to do with one’s life. She’s older 
than I — a good deal older — but see how smooth her face 
is. She looks as if she could never do anything other 
than laugh. And her hands — see, she uses them to show 
them off — aren’t they lovely ? But I was wpndering, 
if she was in my shoes, how would she look? What would 
she do if babies woke her up half a dozen times every 
night, so that when the morning came she was very 
tired ? 

Tired, and yet she must get up and cook and sweep, 
and take the children out, and everything. Would 
her face be smooth and would she laugh then ? I 
was wondering, too, whether she’d take the same trouble 
over her hair at six o’clock of a cold morning. And, 
if she had my life, would men admire her so 
much? Would they look at her as they are looking 
now ? ” 

Osborn stared at his wife, half-amazed, half-frowning. 

One would think,” he said, to hear you talk, that 
you weren’t happy ; that you hadn’t all — all — all a woman 
in your position of life can have.” 

She flushed quickly. ‘'Don’t think that! I was just 
wondering about her, that’s all, as I used to wonder 
about the people we saw when you took me out to dinner 


SURRENDER 


163 

in our engaged days. Do you remember? You used to 
laugh at me and call me the Eternal Question, and all kinds 
of silly things.'’^ 

'' I don’t remember that.” 

^‘No? Well, it was a very long while ago.” 

'' It sounded as if you were envying her.” 

'' I was envying her.” 

'^Haven’t you all you want?” he said again in resent- 
ful surprise. 

“ I want to be awf’ly young again, and to have 
a smooth face and manicured hands, and lots of admir- 
ation.” 

I’ll tell you what it is,” said Osborn, regaining his 
good temper with an effort, this wine has gone to your 
head.” 

After he had presented this very satisfactory solution, 
both laughed; but while he laughed with relief at dis- 
missing the question, she laughed only acquiescently and 
unconvinced, the laugh which should be called the Laugh 
of the Wise Wives. It appeased him and it relieved her, 
as a groan relieves a person in pain. She sipped her un- 
accustomed wine and looked around her with her wide 
eyes, which were far, far more widely opened now than 
in the days of her blind youth. 

When a rather tired and preoccupied man takes his 
wife of four years’ standing out to dinner he knows that 
he need not exert himself to talk, to shine, to please, as 
with a woman who holds the piquancy of a stranger; 
so while Osborn spoke spasmodically, or drifted into 
silence, Marie could look around her and think thoughts 
which chilled the ardour of her soul. It seemed to her, 
that evening of her twenty-ninth birthday, that a door 
was opened to her, revealing nakedly the fears and the 


MARRIED LIFE 


164 

trepidations and the minute cares of marriage which 
have creased many a woman’s brow before her time. 
The restaurant was to her the tide of life, upon which 
the black-haired woman and her sisters sailed victori- 
ously, but upon which she, and wives like her, trained 

for the race only in the backwaters of their homes, 

embarked timidly to their disgrace and peril. What 
wife of a husband with two hundred a year could 
row against the black-haired woman and keep pride of 
place ? 

As Marie wondered things which all her sisterhood 
have long ached over, she saw Osborn looking at the 

black-haired woman too, and in his eyes there was a light 

of admiration, a keenness, a speculation which drew 
the tired lines from his face and left it eager once 
more. It was the male look which once he had looked 
only for her. With a heart beating sharply she recog- 
nised and wanted it again, but she felt strangely im- 
potent. She in her dyed gown, her gamin of a hat, with 
her spoiled hands and thin cheeks — and that tall, rounded 
beauty with all her life and vivacity, undrained, throb- 
bing in her from toes to finger-tips! What a com- 
parison ! 

Vain and profitless was the unequal competition. She 
felt one moment as if, should it come to a struggle, she 
would relinquish it in sheer despair; the next, as if she 
would fight, teeth and nails, body and brains, for her in- 
alienable rights over this man. All the while these emotions 
surged up in her, and ebbed and flowed in again, her in- 
telligence told her the wild absurdity of such supposition. 
The raven woman was a stranger; and socially, to all ap- 
pearance, she must always remain so. Yet Marie could 
not still the passionate unrest of her heart without taking 


SURRENDER 165 

her husband’s eyes from the table where two obsequious 
men adored a goddess. 

She drummed her hard finger-tips sharply on the 
table. 

Osborn, do you know her?” 

"‘Know her? No.” He added carelessly: “I wish I 
did.” 

Marie said in a voice which she tried hard to keep de- 
tached: “Why? Oh, yes. ... I — I suppose she’s the 
type men would admire very much.” 

“ Well, you were admiring her a few minutes 
ago.” 

“ In — in a way I was. I mean, she’s so smooth, so — 
so well-kept, and her frock is lovely, with those diamond 
shoulder-straps and all that black tulle. I thought — you 
stared as if you knew her.” 

“ I hope I shouldn’t stare at any woman because I 
knew her. As a matter of fact, I believe I know who 
she is; she’s an actress; bound to succeed if she takes the 
right line, I should think. Just now she’s got six lines 
to speak in that new piece of Mutro’s. You know — what’s 
it called ? ” 

“ What’s her name ? ” 

“ Roselle Dates, I think.” 

Osborn looked at his wife solicitously. 

“ I’m afraid you’re a bit tired, dear; you’re getting pale. 
You had a jolly colour when I met you.” 

She touched her cheeks mechanically with her finger- 
tips. 

“ Had I ? That was because I was so excited at the 
prospect of our lovely evening.” 

“ Dear old girl! So it’s been a lovely evening?” 

“ Perfect. I wish it was beginning all over again,” 


1 66 MARRIED LIFE 

she answered hollowly, wishing that she meant what she 
said. 

What was the matter with her? Why did she feel so 
grey, so plain, so sparkless? 

'' I ought to rouge a little,’’ she said. ‘‘ Everyone else 
does.” 

He protested quickly and strongly. 

But,” she said, ‘‘if I’m tired? If I’m a fright? What 
then?” 

“ I shouldn’t like my wife to make up.” 

“ But, Osborn, I want you to think I’m pretty, well turned 
out, smart, like all the other women here.” 

She waved a hand vaguely around, but her look was on 
the raven woman, on whose face the white cosmetic, ex- 
quisitely applied, was like pale rose petals. 

“ I do think you’re pretty. As for your turn-out — ” 
he glanced over it quickly — “it’s all right, isn’t it? It’s 
what we can afford, anyway. We can’t help it, can we? ” 

She shook her head. “ I’ve had no new clothes since 
we were married,” she murmured suddenly in a voice of 
yearning. 

“Well,” said Osborn after a pause, “you had such lots; 
such a big trousseau, hadn’t you? It’s supposed to last 
some while.” 

“ It’s lasted ! ” Her laugh rang out with a curious merri- 
ment; her eyes were downcast so that he could not see 
the tears in them, but something about his wife touched 
him profoundly. 

He exclaimed, with rejuvenated sentiment: “ You know 
I’d always give you everything I could! You know it 
isn’t because I won't that I don’t give you the most wonder- 
ful clothes in town, so that you could beat every other 
woman hollow.” 


SURRENDER 167 

His sentiment flushed her cheeks and cleared the 

mist from her eyes. She asked, half shyly and 

coquettishly : i. 

Do you think I should 

‘‘Of course you would, little girl. You’re charming; 
anything more unlike the mother of two great kids I never 
saw.” 

“ Ah,” she said slowly, “ but you forget to tell me.” 

“ What?” 

“ All those — dear little — things.”’ 

“ Women are rum,” he declared. “ I believe they’re al- 
ways wanting their husbands to propose to them.” 

“ It would be nice,” she said seriously. 

Osborn laughed a good deal. “ A woman’s never tired 
of love-making.” 

“ A married woman doesn’t often get the chance.” 

“ A married man doesn’t often get the time.” 

She looked yet again at the actress across the room, and 
strange echoes of questions stirred in her. Such a woman, 
she thought, would always make a man find time. How 
did they do it? What was the real secret of feminine 
victory, triumphant and deathless? Was it not to keep 
burning always, night and day, winter and summer, autumn 
and spring, throughout the seasons, the clear-flamed lamp 
of romance? 

Behind the wife there stood shades, sturdy, greedy, 
disagreeable shades, and the two-hundred-pound husband 
always saw them; they were the butcher, the grocer, the 
milkman, the doctor, the landlord and the tax-collector. 

How could she trim her lamp brightly to burn? 

In the restaurant many diners had gone; many, linger- 
ing, thought of going; waiters hovered near ready to hand 
bills, and empty liqueur glasses and coffee cups, and ash 


MARRIED LIFE 


168 

trays, and the dead ends of cigarettes lay under the rose 
lights on all the tables. Osborn had drunk a benedictine 
and smoked a cigar appreciatively; Marie had begun to 
think, reluctantly, yet clingingly, maternally, of her babies 
in the pink room at home. She lifted her furs from the 
chair back, and a waiter hurried to adjust the stole over 
her shoulders. 

Sorry,'’ said Osborn, going through the slight motion 
of attempting to rise from his chair; ‘‘ I should have done 
that." 

Never mind, dear," she answered. 

Then he paid the bill, got into his own coat, and they 
walked out. As they went, he asked: ‘‘Well, old girl, 
have you really enjoyed it?" 

“ It was lovely. Thank you so much! " 

“ Sure it was the sort of birthday present you 
wanted? " 

“ Absolutely the one and only thing, Osborn." 

“ Happy young woitian ! " He took her arm and 
squeezed it. 

“Cab, sir?" the commissionaire asked. 

“ We're walking, thanks." 

They walked to the nearest Tube station, took train to 
Hampstead, and arrived home at eleven, to release the sleepy 
grandmother on duty. 

“ Had a lovely time, duck? " asked Mrs. Amber, trotting 
out into the hall. 

“ Tophole, Grannie," said Osborn. “ Marie's thoroughly 
enjoyed herself." 

“ Simply lovely, mother," said Marie. “We went to the 
Royal Red, and Osborn gave me a scrumptious dinner. 
Babies been good?" 

“ Not a sound — the little angels." 


SURRENDER 


169 

Marie kissed her mother good night, waved her out, 
and went quietly along the corridor to the bedroom; she 
switched up the light, bent over the cots of the sleeping 
children, and assured herself of their well-being. They 
slumbered on, placid and dreamless. Then she went to her 
dressing-table, and planting her palms flat upon it, leaned 
forward upon them, and gazed at herself mercilessly. She 
tore off her hat, rumpled her hair, rubbed her cheeks and 
gazed again. There were some little fine lines at the cor- 
ners of her eyes, and as she looked and looked under the 
strong light, there stood out, silvery around her temples, 
amid the fairness, the first half-dozen grey hairs. The 
sight of them petrified her; she had not known she had so 
many. 

Oh! '' she breathed. 

Her fingers travelled down her neck. It had lost its 
roundness and, as she turned it this way and that, exam- 
ining, two muscles stood out ; her collar-bones showed 
faintly. The crude abundance of i^olour of the dyed dress 
enhanced her lack of colour. 

‘‘Well . . she began to judge slowly. Then* “I 
suppose there’s no help for it.” 

Two tears dropped down her face. She sobbed and 
checked herself. She heard her husband moving about 
quickly in his dressing-room, and she hurried off her 
own garments, let down her hair, and brushed and plaited 
it hastily. He came in and kissed her. 

“She’s had a good time!” he exclaimed, well 
pleased. 


CHAPTER XVI 


ISOLATION 

Julia was waiting for a guest in that weird institution 
which she called her club. The weird institution, how- 
ever, had lost some of its weirdness and gained in comfort 
and cachet. It now boasted many members of distinction, 
new decorations and enlarged subscriptions. Miss Julia 
Winter sat in the mauve drawing-room under soft light, 
in the delicate glow of which her face took on suave and 
gentle lines, and her eyes held hints of womanly mystery. 
Before her, one of the many tables of the club drawing- 
room stood furnished with blue-and-white tea equipage. 
Behind her back, as she sat settled in the corner of a chester- 
field, a fat silk pillow was crushed. For a picture of mod- 
ern bachelor-womanhood which knew how to do itself 
thoroughly well, Julia could not, in these moments, have 
been excelled. 

The door opened and a page, after assuring himself of 
Miss Winter's presence, announced: Mrs. Kerr!" 

A quiet and slender woman, in a shabby suit dated some 
six years ago, came to meet Julia listlessly. Her listless- 
ness, however, was only bodily, for into her eyes some eager 
spirit had leapt and her hands went out Involuntarily. They 
were engulfed in Julia's well-shaped large ones, and Marie 
was drawn down upon the mauve couch and the fat pillow 
made to transfer its amenities. 


170 


ISOLATION 


171 

Each woman looked at the other with a long, careful 
look. 

''How comfortable this is!’’ Marie observed. 

"Is it, dear?” said Julia. "Lean back and rest. You 
look tired. Been shopping? ” 

"Just a few things for the children; I take the oppor- 
tunity of being in town, you know.” 

"Did you come up this morning?” 

"Yes, before lunch. Mother’s staying in the flat with 
the children.” 

" How are they all — your big family of three? ” 

" Awf’ly well, thank you. Baby’s got a tooth.” 

"How splendid! I just must come and see her again. 
And Georgie ? ” 

" George has grown a lot since you saw him last. I’ve 
been hunting about for a little jersey suit for him; they’re 
all so expensive; I’ll have to knit one myself.” 

"My dear girl! When do you get time to knit jersey 
suits ? ” 

" In the evenings, when dinner is over. There’s always 
an hour or so before bedtime, you know.” 

After a short silence, Julia asked: " I suppose you have 
lunched, dear? Otherwise I’ll order sandwiches.” 

" I’ve lunched, thank you.” 

" Met your husband, I suppose ? ” 

" N — no. I had something, quickly, at Swan and 
Edgar’s. I was in a hurry.” 

Julia signalled a waitress serving tea at the other end 
of the vast room. " The usual tea,” she ordered, " and 
sandwiches.” 

Marie leaned back against her cushion restfully. She 
had the slow glance of a woman much preoccupied, whose 
mind comes very heavily back to matters not of her im- 


172 


MARRIED LIFE 


mediate concern. She went on for a little while talking 
of the topics which filled her brain to the exclusion of all 
else. 

We’re thinking of sending George to a day school soon 
— at least, I am. Tve not spoken of. it to Osborn yet; 
there hasn’t been a chance.” 

How do you mean — no chance ? I thought married 
people lived together.” 

Oh, well . . . you don’t understand. One has to make 
an opportunity; get a man into the right mood. He won’t 
like the expense, of course, though it’s only a guinea and 
a half a term, if you send them till mid-day only. That 
would do at first, don’t you think ? I don’t believe in push- 
ing children. Still, a guinea and a half a term is four 
and a half guineas a year. Well, I can’t help it, can I? 
He’ll have to go to school soon, there’s no doubt of that. 
He’s getting too much for me, and it would be a great 
help, having him* out of the way in the mornings, while 
I’m doing my work.” 

I think it would be a very good plan, darling,” Julia 
replied. 

I know you’d agree with me about it. I shall tell 
Osborn you think it’s a good plan, and I shall get mother 
to tell him too. We shall persuade him.” 

How is your husband? ” Julia asked punctiliously. 

‘Wery well, thank you.” 

Still delighted wdth domestic life?” 

Oh, that doesn’t last, of course,” said Marie, look- 
ing away and sighing. A man always gets to think 
of his home as just the place where bills are sent. 
Osborn’s out a good deal in the evenings, like other 
men, of course. There’s one thing — it leaves me very 
free. There’s always something to be done, you see, 


ISOLATION 


173 

and I can get through a great deal in the evenings if he's 
out." 

And if he’s in?" 

Oh well, a man likes one to sit down and talk to him, 
naturally." 

‘‘How awf’ly obliging wives are!" 

“ My dear, if you were married, you’d know that the 
only way is to humour them." 

The waitress came in with the tea tray and set the table 
daintily. To Julia it was a matter of course, but Marie 
watched the deft girl who handled things so swiftly and 
quietly; she took in the neatness of her black frock, and 
the starched whiteness of her laundering; and when the 
maid had left them, she turned with an envious, smiling 
sigh to Julia, and said: 

“ The servants here are so nice. I always used to 
think, when I had a maid, she’d look like that. We 
were going to have one, you know, when Osborn got his 
first rise after we were married, but George came; and 
now — three of them! It’ll always be impossible, of 
course.’’ 

“ I daresay you’d rather have the children than the 
maid." 

“Of course I would — the priceless things ! ’’ Marie cried, 
her small pale face warming with maternity. 

Julia dispensed tea; and for awhile refused to allow 
her guest to talk more until she was refreshed. And 
when she was refreshed and rested among' the amenities 
of the mauve room, that absorption in the affairs around 
which her whole life moved and had its being grew less 
keen; her preoccupations lifted; she left the problem 
which, even here, had begun to worry her, as to whether 
a pound, or three-quarters of a pound only, of wool 


MARRIED LIFE 


174 

would make George a jersey suit, and she turned her 
eyes with a kind of wondering recollection upon the 
world outside. She began by looking around the room 
at the many well-dressed, softly chattering women; at the 
cut of their gowns and the last thing in hats; then her 
look wandered to Julia and took in her freshness, the beauty 
of her tailoring, and the expensiveness of her appearance 
generally. 

I feel so shabby among you all,’’ she murmured, with 
a smile which appeared to Julia as a ghost. 

You look very pretty,” said Julia, as you always do, 
dear.” 

When one is first married,” Marie said quietly, one 
always imagines one will never get old and tired and 
spoiled, as thousands of other women do; but one does 
it all the same. One’s day is just so full, and with babies 
one’s night is often so full, too, that there simply isn’t 
time to fuss over one’s own appearance. With three chil- 
dren and no help, you’ve got to let something go, and in 
my case ” 

She broke off, to continue : '' It’s been me.” 

Julia laid one of her hands over Marie’s lying in 
her lap. Marie’s hands produced the effect of toilers 
glad to rest. They hardly stirred under Julia’s, even to 
give an answering squeeze. And Julia felt, with a 
burning and angry heart, how rough and tired they 
were. 

Julia,” said Marie, I’ve often wanted to ask some- 
one who would be honest with me — and you’re the hon- 
estest person I knew — do you think I — I’ve let myself 
go very badly?” 

My dear kiddie ! ” Julia cried low, why, you — you’ve 
been brilliant.” 


ISOLATION 175 

“ Look at me/’ said Marie, thrusting forward her 
face. 

Julia looked, to see the lines from nostrils to mouth, 
the lines at the corners of the eyes, the enervated pallor 
and the grey hairs among the golden-brown. She was 
sorry and bitter. 

'‘You look a dear,” she said irresolutely. 

Marie sank back upon the fat pillow again with a laugh. 
It was the laugh of a woman who was beat and owned 
it. 

“ You can’t stand up against it,” she said. “ I don’t 
care who says you can. Day in, day out; night in, night 
out; no, you can’t stand up against it. I’ve often thought 
it out, and something has to go. The woman’s the only 
thing who can be let go; the children must be reared and 
the man must be fed; but the woman must just serve her 
purpose.” 

Tears swelled in Julia’s eyes. “ Don’t,” she begged 
huskily, “ don’t get bitter.” 

Marie returned her look with the simple and wide-eyed 
one she remembered so well. “ I’m not,” she stated ; “ I 
was just thinking, and it comes to that. You must feed 
a man and look after him and make him comfortable, or 

— or you wouldn’t keep him at all.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Just that. But I sometimes think,” she whispered, 
“ if I let myself go, get plain and drab, will I keep him 
then?” 

“ It is in his service,” said Julia. 

Marie said wisely : “ That doesn’t count. And often 

— I get frightened when he sometimes takes me out, and 
we dine at a restaurant. I look round and see the differ- 
ence between most of the women there and me. 


MARRIED LIFE 


176 

In restaurants one always seems to see such wonderful 
women — women who seem as if their purpose was just 
being taken out to dinner and to be attractive. I com- 
pare my clothes with theirs and my hands with theirs; 
and I think : ^ Supposing Osborn is comparing me, 

too? ' ’’ 

‘‘ He wouldn't.’’ 

Not consciously, perhaps. But he is admiring the 
other women all the time ; I see him doing it. Why 
shouldn’t he ? All the women he sees about him in 
town — the pretty girls in the streets. . . . He used to 
admire me so much, when I was very pretty . . . the — 
the things he used to say ! But now, I sometimes 
wonder ” 

What else do you wonder, poor kid? ” 

When he goes out alone — sometimes to dinner — in 

the evenings ” 

Whether he's taking someone " 

Marie nodded. Someone prettier than I ; as I used 
to be ; someone who’s not tired with having children ; 
and who hasn’t rusted and got dull and stupid from 
thinking of nothing but grocers’ bills, and from staying 
at home.” 

^‘You must try not to think ” 

But I do think. Men are like that ; men hate being 
annoyed and want to be amused. They get to — to — 
marriage is funny; Osborn seems to get to look upon 
me as someone who’s always going to ask for some- 
thing. I — I know when he had a nice commission 
the other day, he didn’t tell me about it, in case there 
was something for the children I’d be asking him 
for.” 

^^Oh!” 


ISOLATION 


177 

It hurts/' said Marie, always to be considered 
an asker; but of course men don't think of it like 
that." 

'' They ought to think, then." 

Men aren't like women. They set their own lines of 
conduct." 

‘‘What's that in the marriage service," Julia inquired, 
“ about bestowing upon a woman all a man's worldly 
goods ? " 

“ Ah, well, you think all those things at the time ; but 
they don't work out, really." 

“ As I always thought," said Julia. 

Marie was still away upon her trail. “ I don't really 
let myself go as much as you might think. I'm always 
dressed for breakfast, if I've been up half the night; I 
don't allow myself to be slovenly. And however I've 
had to hurry over putting the children to bed, and cook- 
ing dinner and things, I always change my blouse and 
put on my best slippers before Osborn comes in. I feel 
— at home I feel as if I look quite nice; but when I come 
out of it " — she indicated her surroundings — “ I realise 
Tm just a dowd who's fast losing what looks she had. 
When I come out, and see others, I — I know I can't com- 
pete. It makes you almost afraid to come out. And Os- 
born — while I'm at home, plodding along, you see, he's out, 
seeing the others all the time. He sees them in the res- 
taurants, and they pass him in the street — girls as I used 
to be." 

“ You must leave all these thoughts alone." 

“ Girls, Julia, as — as I could be again, if I had the 
chance." 

“Would you like a cigarette?" Julia asked abruptly; 
“ if so, we'll go to the smoke-room." 


178 


MARRIED LIFE 


‘Td love it; it's ages since I smoked. But I haven't 
time. I must be going." 

Already?" 

It'll be the children's bedtime, and mother can't manage 
them alone." 

Oh, of course, dear," Julia said. How stupid of 
me ! " She folded very tenderly round Marie's neck the 
stole which had been star turn in the trousseau six years 
ago, and very tenderly she pressed her hands. 

Don't make the jersey suit for George; I want to give 
it to him for Christmas ! " 

Oh, Julia, I couldn't! " 

Yes, you could and will." 

You're an old darling." 

‘‘ That's all right, Mrs. Osborn Kerr. Now I'll take you 
as far as your Tube or 'bus. Which is it? " 

Marie went home the warmer for Julia's companion- 
ship and her visit to the most up-to-date women's club 
in town ; she looked almost girlish again when she 
stepped into No. 30 Welham Mansions, to relieve Grannie 
Amber of the onerous responsibilities which she undertook 
so gladly. 

Well, duck," said Mrs. Amber, coming out with her 
funny walk, which was at once a waddle, because of her 
weight, and a trip, from the energy of her disposition, have 
you had a lovely day? " 

‘‘ Such a nice time, thank you, mother. Babes been 
good? " 

Perfect little angels ! " Mrs. Amber lied with innocent 
sincerity. 

I'll begin putting them to bed directly I've laid 
down these parcels. I've got the cream socks and the 
flannel for baby's new petticoats, but the jersey suits 


ISOLATION 179 

were too dear. Julia’s going to give George one 
for Christmas.” 

That’s very kind of her, love. I always think she has 
a good heart, though I don’t like her opinions. The bath 
water’s hot, my duck, and baby’s in bed, and the others 
are undressed, all ready, waiting for you.” 

“ You are a good grannie ! ” 

Grannie Amber stayed a while longer to watch the two 
elder children’s bathing ; she squeezed her plump form 
alongside Marie in the tiny bathroom, and from time to 
time emitted laughs and cries of fond delight. She made 
herself busy, when the matter was over, in folding towels 
and wiping up the pools of water which the rampant chil- 
dren had splashed upon the floor. She followed them with 
her waddling trip along the corridor to see them snugly 
tucked up in their beds in what had been Osborn’s dress- 
ing-room, and at last, having murmured, God bless you 
all, ducks ! ” her good work accomplished, she stole 
away. 

The fluvsh of exertion stained Marie’s pale cheeks 
now; it was 6.15, and there was no time for anything 
but to fly to the kitchen. It was always so, but 
happily there was seldom time to think about it. If you 
began to question why, the potatoes boiled dry in im- 
mediate protest against your discontent. By the time 
Marie had set the gas-stove going full blast the very 
tips of her nose and ears were crimson. Without pause 
she ran back into her bedroom to put on her best 
slippers, the only evening toilet she had time to make. 
She stood a few seconds leaning towards the glass, as 
she had stood that birthday night after her husband had 
taken her to dine at the Royal Red, and she fingered 
her blouse, her hair, her manicure tools passionately, 


i8o 


MARRIED LIFE 


sadly and appealingly, as if she begged them: ‘‘Do 
your best/’ The underlying anxiety which her con- 
fidences to Julia had awakened looked haggardly from her 
face. 

“ I am growing very old,” she thought, terrified. “ I 
am growing much older than thirty-one. I look older than 
Osborn.” 

She was quivering to woman’s ageless problem, the 
problem of the body, the problem of the tired brain and 
the driven heart; the problem of the great and cruel com- 
petition between the woman of pleasure and the woman 
of toil. 

While she still stood there, she heard her husband’s key 
in the lock. 

She put up her hands to smooth the worry away from 
her face and, with the impress of her fingers white on 
her flushed cheeks, stared at herself again. Surely that 
was better? She wore a smile, the smile of the Wise 
Wives, and went out to meet him. He was shedding his 
overcoat, and as he hung it up he whistled a tune with 
joy in it. She was struck instantly by something about 
him, a tiny but material change, which she could not 
fathom. 

“ Hallo, old girl ! ” he turned to say cheerfully. 

“ Hallo, dear! ” she replied. 

“ Dinner ready? ” 

“ Quite ! I’ll bring it in.” 

He went into the dining-room and stood on the 
hearth in the attitude long appropriate to a master of the 
house. His eyes were shining, though his brow still 
wore its habitual creases as if he were thinking very 
carefully. He stared before him, but without noting 
anything. They still had a pretty dinner-table, a 


ISOLATION 


i8i 

dinner-table almost, if not quite, up to early-married 
standards, and the shaded candles were lighted and 
beneath them there were cut flowers. He never 
wondered how Marie managed to stretch that weekly 
thirty-two and sixpence to cover the cost of a third 
baby, occasional new candle-shades and perpetual 
flowers. It was better not to inquire. Inquiry raised 
ideas and suggestions and requests. He could not 
afford to inquire. It struck him vaguely this evening, as 
he stood looking out somewhere beyond the dining-room 
and whistling his happy tune, that everything was very 
fairly comfortable. 

His wife came in with a big tray and arranged the 
dinner temptingly upon the table. When it was all ready 
he drew up his chair and sat down with an air of appe- 
tite. And he talked; it was as if he exerted himself to 
interest her and to be interested, himself, in all that she 
said. He listened and commented upon her day’s shopping, 
asked where she lunched, heard about her visit to Julia at 
a chic club, and observed lightly how fashionable she was 
getting. 

He said she looked tired tomight, and must take care 
of herself. 

He was going to stay at home this evening, to sit by 
the Are and talk to her; his manner was almost loverlike, 
and her heart thrilled to it as she had not thought it could 
thrill again. She looked at him with eyes in which her 
wonder showed; and in her quietened body her passion 
seemed to raise its subdued head again, sweet and strong 
and young. 

‘‘I shan’t be two minutes clearing away,” she said, 
when they rose. She felt no more fatigue, but piled all 
the things on the big tray and carried it out to the 


MARRIED LIFE 


182 

kitchen almost like a feather-weight, and in less than 
the two minutes she had assigned, she was back again 
with the coffee things, her feet light and her eyes dream- 
ing. She drew her chair nearer his before the hearth, 
and stretched out her hand to him, hungering across the 
space. He squeezed and dropped it, and leaned forward, 
clearing his throat as if he were going to speak words of 
moment. 

He checked himself and obviously said something 
else. 

‘‘Your coffee is good, dear; you do look after me in 
a simply tophole way.’^ 

His words were like the prelude of a song to her. 
She listened for more, with a smile, a real smile, no more 
wise, but foolish. It had the foolishness of all love in 
it, so easily and completely could he give her pain or 
pleasure. 

He answered the smile with one of constraint. 

Feeling in the pocket of his lounge coat, he uttered 
abruptly : 

I brought you a few sweets, dear; passed a shop on 
my way ; thought ” 

He handed over a packet of chocolates and sat back 
with a sigh expressive of satisfaction, while, with a cry of 
delight and gratitude, she untied the ribbons. 

‘‘ You are a dear! ” she said tremulously. I must share 
them with the children; and this pink ribbon — pink for 
a girl, blue for a boy! Ifll do for baby's bonnet. What 
lovely ribbon, silk all through ! " 

Oh, well, they weren’t cheap chocolates,” Osborn 
observed. 

I see that. They’re delicious.” She broke one slowly 
between her teeth. Sweets ! They brought back those dear 


ISOLATION 


183 

old spoiled-girl days to her ; precious days which no woman 
values till she has lost them, and the prize of which no 
man understands. 

‘‘ Glad you like them,^’ he said, looking at her with 
a strange, an almost guilty softness. I like you to 
have things that you enjoy. You know that, don't 
you?" 

‘‘ Of course I do, dear." 

Osborn cleared his throat and leaned forward again, his 
clasped hands between his knees. He looked down at the 
hands attentively, appearing to take an undue interest in 
them. 

He began slowly : 

‘‘ Er — speaking of things you'd enjoy, old girl, we — 
we've often talked about — wondered when — my ship 
would be coming in. Grand to see her, wouldn't it be, 
steaming into harbour, fine as paint, full cargo and all?" 

He choked slightly over his words, as with excitement, 
and that shining in his eyes intensified. She caught it 
as for a moment he lifted them, and it took her breath 
away, but in the same instant she knew that this shining 
was not for her. 

Osborn ! " she uttered, and could say no more. 

He continued : I've got something to tell you." 

I felt it when you first came in. Oh, Osborn, darling, 
don’t keep me waiting. What is it ? " 

Well — in a way — it’s what we’ve both been thinking 
of ’’ 

The ship’s — come in ! ’’ 

As she breathed rather than spoke the words she sank 
back in her chair ; her conviction was so sure that she 
could have shrieked with ecstasy; yet at the same time it 
came with such an overpowering relief that she had the 


MARRIED LIFE 


184 

sensation of one kept too long from sleep lying down at 
last to rest. She would have been content to wait, until 
after a long dreamful contemplation of the news, for detail 
and description of the voyage and adventure of the most 
elusive craft in the world, only that, once off, Osborn 
plunged on as if he would have her know all as soon as 
might be. 

He started again, with scarcely a pause, after just a nod 
to confirm her exclamation. 

‘‘ ril begin at the beginning. That’s the best way, eh, 
old girl? I see it’s staggered you as it staggered me. 
Woodall — you’ve heard me speak of Woodall, one of our 
travellers? — was just about to start for a long trip — 
New York, Chicago, then Montreal and all over Canada, 
California, then New Zealand; it was a fine trip, selling 
our Runaway two-seater. Well, when I got to our place 
this morning the boss sent for me at once, and told me 
the news about poor old Woodall — knocked down by a 
taxi in the street last night, and now in hospital for they 
don’t know how long. The tickets were bought and the 
tour arranged, and — and — in short, you see, they’d got 
to pick another man at a moment’s notice, to go instead. 
And so ” 

The wife leaned forward, her eyes opened wide and 
warily on her husband’s face. Not looking at her, he rattled 
on: 

"" So the boss offered it to me. You don’t need telling 
that I accepted, do you? ” 

She replied, ‘‘ No,” in a quiet voice. 

I knew you’d think I ought to take it,” he said, with 
a swift glance at her. '"Of course, it mayn’t be perma- 
nent, but I think it’s up to me to make it so. I guess I can 
hold down a job of that kind as well as anyone else, if 


ISOLATION 185 

Tve the chance. Ifs a fine chance! Do you know what 
it means ? ’’ 

She uttered a questioning sound. 

'' Five hundred a year/' he said huskily, ‘‘ with a good 
commission and all expenses paid. The expenses are — 
are princely. You see, a fellow selling motors isn't like 
a fellow selling tea. He's got to do the splendid — get 
among the right people; among all sorts of people. Oh, 
it'll be life!" 

Passion was subdued again in her ; it was old and drowsy 
and quiet. Knitting her fingers tightly round her knee, 
she rocked a little, and asked: 

When do you start ? " 

Of course it's rather sudden " 

'' So I understood from what you said. When will it 
be, Osborn? " 

To-morrow." 

She stared into his face, unbelieving. 

To-morrow? " she whispered. 

He got up hurriedly and fumbled about the mantel-piece 
in a fake search for cigarettes. 

'' You see. I've got to follow out Woodall's programme 
exactly; he would have started to-morrow." 

How — how long will you be away ? " 

'' A year." 

''A year!" she half screamed. '"Oh, no! no! 
no ! " 

He looked at her with something of fear and some- 
thing of sulkiness. He was on the defensive, willing 
to be very kind, but resolute not to be nagged nor 
argued with. " Don't," he protested, " don't take it like 
that." 

" I'm sorry, dear," she said more quietly. " It hit me, 


1 86 MARRIED LIFE 

rather. To-morrow is so soon, and a year is such a long, 
long time/’ 

‘‘ Not so very. A year’s nothing. Besides, IVe got to 
go; it’s no use making a fuss, is it? ” 

I won’t make a fuss.” 

“ There’ll be a good deal to do. I wanted you to look 
over my things to-night. I’ll help you carry them in here, 
shall I?” 

She rose mechanically and went into the erstwhile dress- 
ing-room quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping children. 
He waited in the doorway, and she handed out to him pile 
after pile of his underwear, following the last consign- 
ment by carrying out a big armful herself. They re- 
turned to the dining-room and laid the garments on the 
table. * 

Sorry to give you so much trouble all at once,” he 
apologised. 

He lighted a pipe and sat down again by the fire, 
while she stood over the heaps on the table, sorting 
them with neat fingers that had learned a very consider- 
able speed in such tasks, and picking out here and there 
a shirt or vest which needed further attention. She was 
white with a kind of grey whiteness like ashes, and in 
her heart and throat heavy weights of tears lay. She 
talked automatically to keep herself from exhibition of 
despair. 

I’ll darn that ; it’s as good as new except for one thin 
patch. These shirts have lasted very well, haven’t they? 
The colour’s hardly faded at all. You ought to have 
had new vests, but I daresay you’ll have ample opportunity 
for buying them. To-morrow morning I’ll sponge your 
navy suit with ammonia. What time are you going? 
T-t-ten o'clock? . . . 


ISOLATION 


187 

ril sponge it before breakfast. You may want to put 
it on. Tm going to look for that glove you lost; it was 
a seven-and-sixpenny pair; we ought to find it.’’ And 
things like this she continued to say to him, lest, the fantastic 
fancy of her grief whispered to her, he should hear her 
heart painfully breaking. 

He answered with alacrity, the same alacrity of response 
which he had shown, at dinner ; and he handed to her the 
packet of chocolates, asking jocularly: ‘"Isn’t she going 
to eat her sweets?” 

She broke one slowly between her teeth again; it had 
an extraordinary bitter taste which remained in the mouth. 
She hated the packet of sweets for its smug, silly mission 
of comfort. 

Comfort ! 

How queer women’s lives were! 

What did men really think regarding their wives ? What 
did Osborn think, sitting there in his accustomed chair, with 
his accustomed pipe between his teeth and his new and 
gorgeous plans causing his eyes to shine? 

She knew now the wherefore of his eyes shining. 
He was looking out at a wonderful adventure; at 
freedom. 

Freedom! 

What right had he to freedom? 

She turned to him with a remark so abrupt that it was 
exclamatory : 

“ It will be a good holiday for you.” 

“Great!” he answered, his satisfaction bursting forth, 
“ great!” 

“ I wish I could come with you.” 

“ Ah,” he said, “ ah ! . . .” She watched him with a 
knifelike keenness while he reflected, and she read the 


MARRIED LIFE 


i88 

stealthy gratification of the thought he voiced next: But 

you can’t, old girl There are the kiddies.” 

Do you suppose I don’t know that? ” 

‘lOh, well; I knew you were only joking.” 

Joking? 

What a joke ! 

“ I shall try to save a bit of money for the first time 
in my life,” he said. I’ll leave you a clear two hundred 
for yourself and the kids — that’s all right, isn’t it? Two 
hundred, and you won’t have my enormous appetite 
to cater for! You’ll do very well, won’t you, Mrs. 
Osborn? ” 

‘‘Thank you. We shall do quite well.” 

“ I’ll arrange at the bank, and give you a cheque- 
book.” 

She said next : 

“A whole year! Baby’ll forget you.” 

The remark seemed to him peculiarly womanish and silly. 
What on earth did it matter, anyway? But he had patience 
with her, knowing how sorely better men than he were 
tried by their wives. 

“ Well,” he observed, “ kids’ memories are very short, 
aren’t they?” 

Marie went on sorting the clothes ; presently she 
drew a chair to the table, and began to work with needle 
and thread, darning, tightening buttons, performing the 
many jobs which only a wife would find. As she sewed 
she glanced again and again at her husband ; he had 
sunk deep into his chair in an abandonment of rest, his 
legs stretched before him, his pipe between his teeth, 
his shining eyes fixed upon the fire. Now and again 
his lips twitched to a smile over the pipe stem. He was 
thinking, imagining, revelling in the freedom of the 


ISOLATION 


189 

approaching year. The marriage task had infinitely 
wearied him. For a year, with a well-lined pocket, and 
a first-class ticket, he was to travel away from it all. He 
was deeply allured, and his delight was again young and 
robust; he looked forward most eagerly, as a school-boy 
to a promising holiday. 

After she had sewed awhile with a methodical tighten- 
ing of all the buttons, and an unconscious tightening of 
her lips too, she said : 

'' Well, you'll come back and find us all the same.’' 

He roused himself slightly. 

“ I hope so. Take care of yourselves.” 

She could have screamed at him. 

We shall jog along here,” she said. 

He looked at her abstractedly. Take the kids to Little- 
hampton in the summer; give yourselves a change. Your 
mother'll go with you, I daresay.” 

How jolly ! '' 

He took her seriously. He seemed so densely absorbed 
in what was coming to him that he only just heard her 
reply. 

He said absently: hope it will be; look after your- 

selves.” 

She went back, in her busy mind, to the honeymoon 
adventure on which they had both embarked six and a 
quarter years ago. Then they had gone out hand-in- 
hand like children into a big dark and they had found 
light. Now they had dropped hands; and at the first 
chance he ran off alone, a boy once more, hungry for 
thrills. A strong yearning rose in her to run after him, 
catch his hand again, and set out with him. But there 
was much in the way; the butcher and baker, speaking 
through her mouth, had dulled his ears to her voice; he 


MARRIED LIFE 


190 

had forgotten how to hold hands; they were out of tune. 
Nature had sent them, all those years ago, converging to- 
gether; and married life had sent them apart again. 
Married life! 

She traced the pattern of it, which she saw in her mind, 
upon the table with her needle tip — 




It was like that. 

She saw wet drops falling upon the table; they were 
her tears. Her husband happened to look up at the mo- 
ment, and, seeing them too, looked hastily away again. He 
did not want to see them; there were too many tears in 
marriage. 

But soon he would be away from marriage for a whole 
year. 

He did not want her to cry; it was terribly irritating, 
and she had cried too much — not lately, but in the first 
years. Lately she had disciplined herself better, become 
more cheerful, realised, no doubt, that she was quite as 
well off as other men’s wives, and really had nothing to 
weep for. But, in case those tears which had fallen should 
be precursors of one of the old storms, he knocked out his 
pipe, rose, and said : 

Well, ril be off to bed. I shall have a lot to do to- 
morrow.” 

She answered: ^‘Very well, dear. I shan’t be long.” 

The door shut upon him and she was alone. She listened 
for the closing of the bedroom door upon him, knowing 


ISOLATION 


191 

that then he would not come back, knowing that he had 
seen and feared her tears. Then she dropped her work, 
and ran over to the hearthplace, and, kneeling down by 
his chair still warm from the impress of his body, laid 
her head upon it, and cried terribly. 

When she had married him she gave up her life and 
took his instead. If he removed it, how should she 
live? She had become so much a part of him that her 
suffering was devastating; it was physical. And now, giv- 
ing rein to herself, her sex side tugged at her pitilessly. 
Jealousy tore through her like a hot wind. She had a dozen 
grey hairs, a thin throat, a tired face, rough hands, two 
spoiled teeth in the front upper row. That was not the 
worst; the gaiety of her wit had been sapped. She could 
not have kept two men amused at a dinner table as that 
raven woman in the Royal Red did had her life depended 
upon it. Six years ago she could. She could have had 
them in her white, pretty hands; but not now. Not now! 
Never any more ! 

Never had she wept as she wept now before Osborn’s 
chair in the silent dining-room, and when it seemed as 
if all founts of tears had run dry, so that she was left 
merely sobbing without weeping, she collected herself to 
pray. 

She prayed : 

O God, teach men! Teach Osborn. Let them know. 
Let them think and have pity. Make him admire me, 
God. Make him admire me for the children I’ve suffered 
over, even if my face is spoiled. But, God, don’t let me 
be spoiled. Can’t I recover? O God, why do You spoil 
women? It’s not fair. Help me! Keep him from the 
other women — the women who are fresher and prettier 
than me. Help me to fight. Let me win. Keep him lov- 


192 MARRIED LIFE 

ing me. Keep him thinking of me every day. For Christ's 
sake." 

And after that she prayed on in some formless way till 
the clock struck half-past eleven, and a rapping came upon 
the other side of the wall, and with it sounded Osborn's 
muffled voice. 

He somehow guessed that she would cry a little; get 
things over quietly by herself. It was the best way. But 
it was now half-past eleven. . . . 

She rose, rapped back, and tidied her hair quickly before 
the round mirror over the mantelpiece. Her face was 
ravaged. But in the bedroom she would have to undress 
by a very subdued light lest she awakened the baby, so he 
would not see, even if he wished to see. She knew, how- 
ever, that he did not wish it. After making neat piles 
of the scattered garments again, she raked out the fire, 
switched off the lights, and went quietly into the bed- 
room. 

His voice was a little testy to conceal his apprehen- 
sions. 

‘‘I must say you haven't hurried! You haven't been 
making me half a dozen new shirts, have you, old girl?" 

She replied in a carefully-steadied tone : There was 

a good deal to do, and I wanted to finish it." 

He pulled his bedclothes up higher around him. “ Well, 
thanks awfully. Afraid I rushed you. You won't be long 
now, will you? I want to get to sleep, and I can't with 
someone moving about." 

I'll be quick. There's baby's bottle to do — it's long 
past time. She hasn't waked, I suppose ? " 

No; hasn't made a sound." 

Marie lighted the spirit stove, and put the baby's food 
on while she undressed. Osborn watched her apprehen- 


ISOLATION 193 

sively, not knowing that she knew of what he did. But 
she wasn’t going to make a fuss. 

He was very thankful for that. 

Every time she turned towards him he closed his 

eyes quickly, fearing conversation which he need not have 
feared. She could not have talked to him. When 
the food was ready and the bottle given, she was glad 
to creep into her own bed, erect a similar barricade 

of sheet and blankets, and sink into a sort of coma 

of grief and depression. In a few minutes Osborn 

slept. 

When Marie opened her eyes on the twilight of early 
winter morning it seemed to her that she could scarcely 
have had time to close them, but her bedside clock showed 
her, to her surprise, that she had been sleeping all night. 
The greatness of the shock had passed, and she had to 
concern herself imminently with all the bustle of Osborn’s 
departure. As he was not going to business to-day, not 
going out at all, in fact, until he left gloriously, like a 
man of leisure, in a taxicab at ten o’clock, he did no more 
than unclose a sleepy eye when his wife sprang out of her 
bed and murmur: 

I say, old girl, you will do my packing, won’t 
you ? ” 

'Wes. I’m extra early, on purpose.” 

So in the grey dawn, Marie went about her business. 
She packed suit-case and kit-bag and hat-box, and 
placed the labels ready for Osborn to write; she dressed 
George and bade him help the three-year-old to dress; 
she brushed the rooms and lighted the fires; made the 
morning bottle for the baby; saw that boiling hot shav- 
ing water was ready for Osborn; gave the children their 
breakfast; cooked an unusually lavish one for the traveller; 


MARRIED LIFE 


194 

and had accomplished all these things by the time he was 
dressed and ready at nine o’clock. 

He glowed with health and cheer. The creases in his 
brow were smoothed out; his smile was ready; his voice 
had its old boyish ring. 

Because he was going away from them the metamor- 
phosis occurred which rived the wife’s heart afresh. He 
was so glad to go. 

He sat down with a great appetite to breakfast, while 
she faced him behind the tea tray. The baby, being un- 
able to help herself as yet, was still imprisoned in her 
cot in the bedroom until such time as her mother could 
attend to her, and on the dining-room floor George and the 
three-year-old, ordered to keep extremely quiet and in- 
offensive, played with their bricks. Now and again an 
erection of bricks toppled down accidentally with a shat- 
tering noise, when Osborn exclaimed : ‘‘ Shut up, you 
kids ! ” and their mother implored : Do try to keep quiet 
while Daddy’s here.” 

The parents made conversation at breakfast, but not 
much. It was kept mainly to material things relevant to 
the moment, such as: 

You packed all my thin shirts, didn’t you? ” 

Except the striped one, which has gone too far. I’ll 
make it up for George.” 

Have you written the labels ? ” 

‘‘ No. I didn’t know where to.” 

All right. I’ll do ’em. It’s a jolly morning for a 
start, isn’t it?” 

‘^Yes. I’m so glad.” 

I’ll write and give you an address as soon as I can. 
I shall be able to find out to-day about mails, I expect. 
Yesterday I really didn’t think of inquiring. ’Sides, I 


ISOLATION 


195 

hadn’t time. And I can tell you, I was all up a tree with 
excitement.” 

‘‘Of course you were. It’ll be a lovely holiday for 
you.” 

“ Wish you could come too. Look after yourselves, 
won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, thanks, dear.” 

“ Did you tell the porter to get a taxi at ten? ” 

“No! George can run down and do it now. George, 
run down and tell the porter Daddy wants a taxi at ten 
sharp.” 

Marie rose to unlatch the front door for George and re- 
turned. 

The hour went past like a wheeled thing gathering 
velocity down an ever steeper and steeper slope. It was 
extraordinary how quickly it flew, and the moment came 
for the good-bye. She looked at him, and her heart 
seemed to beat up in her throat. If only he would have 
thrown his arms around her and been very sorry to go! 
She wanted a long good-bye in the flat, where no one 
could see and pry upon her anguish. But he had been 
married for six such long years that perhaps he had for- 
gotten the romance and passion of good-byes. He kissed 
George; he kissed the three-year-old; he kissed her a kiss 
of mere every day affection; then, taking a hand of each 
of the children, he said gaily: 

“ All come down to see Daddy start, won’t you? ” 

The hall porter came up for the bags. Osborn helped 
the excited children down the long flights of grey stone 
stairs, and she followed. During the business of stowing 
the luggage on the cab, she took the children from Os- 
born, and, heedless of the passers-by, put up her longing 
face once more. 


MARRIED LIFE 


196 

Good-bye/’ she said tremulously. 

He kissed her again quickly, turned away, jumped into 
the cab, and she saw the shining of his eyes through the 
window. He pulled the strap and let it down. ‘‘ Be good 
kids,” he exhorted. ‘‘ Bye-bye, dear ! Bye-bye, all of you ! 
Take care of yourselves! ” 

He was gone. 

Marie stood bareheaded in the bleak wind, holding a 
hand of each of her children, to watch his cab down the 
street. After it had disappeared she still stood there, gaz- 
ing blankly at the place of its vanishing, till at last the 
younger child, shuddering, complained : ‘‘ Mummy, Ts so 
told.” 

‘‘Are you, darling?” she said tenderly, lifting the blue 
mite in her arms. She carried her child up all the grey 
stone stairs, George following, and they re-entered the 
flat. 

It had an air of missing someone very desolately. 

Her face puckered suddenly and she w^as afraid she was 
going to cry again, before the children, but George stood 
in front of her, examining her minutely, and she straight- 
ened her lips. 

“ Mummie,” said George, “ you hasn’t barfed poor 
baby.” 

“ You come and help Mummie do it,” she answered. 

The procession of three went together into the bedroom, 
where the long-suflFering baby had begun at last to pro- 
test. The rumpled beds were as she and Osborn had left 
them, and the room looked soiled. She inspected it for 
a moment before she turned to the business of bathing and 
dressing the baby. 

Osborn’s late breakfast had made her late with the 
housework, but it didn’t matter. There was no one to 


ISOLATION 197 

work for, cook for, keep up the standard for. For a few 
minutes she thought thus. 

George and the three-year-old gave her a great deal of 
help with the baby. Their little fat, loving faces turned 
to her in the utmost worship and faith, and they trotted 
about, vying with each other in bringing her this and that 
for the infantile toilet. And when it was accomplished, 
George took charge of the baby in the dining-room while 
his mother turned to the work which he was accustomed 
to seeing her do. It was as if a great gift of sympathy 
for his mother in her hour of need had descended into 
his small heart. 

Marie's first task lay in the bedroom; when she had 
made her own bed, she turned to Osborn's, and slowly 
and thoughtfully, one by one, she folded up the blankets 
for storage in the cupboard, dropped the sheets and 
pillow-case into the linen-basket without replacing them, 
and then spread the pink quilt over the unmade 
bed. 

It would be a year before Osborn wanted it again. A 
year! 

A few things of his lay about the room; only a few, 
for all that were good enough to pack she had packed. 
She suddenly advanced upon these few trifles, swept them 
together, and pushed them out of sight in a drawer. 
Again she looked around. The room seemed expressive 
now only of her own entity; she was entirely alone 
in it. 

She advanced to Osborn's bed again, ripped off the quilt 
and mattress, and bent her strength to taking apart and 
folding the iron bedstead. It was really a man's task, 
but she accomplished it, and carried it into the dress- 
ing-room, where she put it against the wall, in a cor- 


MARRIED LIFE 


198 

ner. Again she returned to her own room and looked 
around. Her bed, her toilet things, everything was hers. 
True, the baby’s cot stood there; otherwise it was a virgin 
room. 

Anger had muffled the grief in her heart. 

‘‘ Well,” she said, I have no husband.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


REVIVAL 

She began to tidy the room automatically. Through the 
partitioning wall she could hear George crooning like a 
guardian angel to his charge, and she smiled tenderly. 

The darling ! ’’ she thought. His immature and uncom- 
prehending sympathy warmed her chilled heart as noth- 
ing else could have done. She had a great new sensation 
of leisure; there was all day to potter about in and no one 
to prepare for in the evening. 

Life was now timeless, without the clock of man^s habits. 
Nothing mattered. 

She sat down idly before her dressing-table and met 
again her sallowed face in the mirror. The sight stirred 
her anger vigorously once more. Wrathfully she wanted 
to do something — anything — and, to keep her fingers 
busy, pulled open one of the top drawers of the dressing- 
table. Confusion met her, for it was the untidy drawer 
beloved of woman; the drawer where ribbons and lace 
and scent sachets and waist-belts and flowers and face 
powder lay pell-mell. For a long while the drawer had 
not had the periodical setting straight which woman 
grants it, and its contents were aged, dingy and undesirable 
— camisole-ribbons like boot-strings, lace collars long out 
of fashion, a rose or two crumpled into flat and withered 
blobs, shapeless and 'faded. She touched things sorrow- 
fully. 


199 


200 


MARRIED LIFE 


My pretty things ! '' she thought with regret. 

At what precise moment the idea came to her she did 
not know, but it intruded by degrees. She began to think 
idly of money, to turn over in her mind the exact allow- 
ance with which Osborn had left her, and she knew her- 
self rich. Till yesterday her domestic budget, for her- 
self, the children and Osborn, had been at the rate of 
about one hundred and forty pounds a year. He had 
to have the rest. Now she had two hundred and no man 
to keep. It would have taken a woman to understand 
why she suddenly sprang up, why her sallowed face took 
on a hasty colour, and with what an incredulously beat- 
ing heart she hastened down the grey stone stairs to the 
hall-porter’s box. 

‘‘ Porter,” she said, controlling her voice with diffi- 
culty, I want a charwoman at once ; and — and for two 
or three hours every morning. You could find one for 
me? ” 

Like every other block of flats, the place was infested 
with ladies of the charing profession, and he promised 
her one within half an hour. Returning to her children, 
she sat down at ease in the dining-room to await the 
woman’s arrival. 

When she came, it was joy to show her round; to say: 

I want the bedroom and hall and kitchen done ; these 
things washed up; and these vegetables prepared. And 
these things of the children’s washed out, please. I shall 
be back before you’ve finished.” 

Then she put on the children’s outdoor things, estab- 
lished the baby and the three-year-old at either end of 
the perambulator and, with George walking manfully by 
her side, set out upon an errand. 

She was going to tell her mother of what had befallen; 


REVIVAL 


201 


she hardly knew why, but the wisdom of matronly coun- 
sel and opinion, irritating as it was, had impressed her 
forcibly during the past years. So she and George trundled 
the shabby grey perambulator, Rokeby's gift, across the 
Heath, and along the intervening streets to Grannie 
Amber’s. 

They left the perambulator in the courtyard and made 
a slow journey up the stairs to her nice flat on the first 
floor. That flat, which had seemed so small and old- 
fashioned to the girl Marie, appeared as a haven of refuge 
and comfort to the woman. It was so warm, so quiet 
and still. When they arrived there. Grannie Amber was 
comfortably sewing by her cosy fire, while her charwoman 
got through the work there was to do. She was sur- 
prised and somewhat uneasy to see her daughter so early, 
but she bustled about to settle them comfortably, taking 
the baby upon her lap, and bringing out queer old games 
from cunning hiding-places for the others, as grannies 
do. 

When George and the three-year-old were presumably 
absorbed, she lifted an anxious, cautionary eyebrow at 
Marie, and waited to hear the news. 

Osborn’s gone away for a year, mother,” Marie an- 
nounced quietly. 

Mrs. Amber did not reply for a few moments, but her 
elderly face flushed with red and her eyes with tears; she 
was so nonplussed that she hardly knew what to say, but 
at length she asked : 

What does that mean, duck ? ” 

He has got a splendid appointment, owing to an ac- 
cident to one of the firm’s travellers,” said Marie steadily. 

‘‘ He only knew yesterday, and had to start at ten this 
morning, so you may guess we’ve been very busy. 


202 


MARRIED LIFE 


It will keep him away for a year and he’s going to 
travel — oh! over nearly half the world, selling the new 
Runaway two-seater ; and the salary is five hundred 
a year and a good commission and very generous ex- 
penses.” 

She was glad to have got it all out almost at a breath, 
without a sign of a breakdown; and the eyes of Grannie 
Amber, who was not meant to understand and knew 
better than to show she did, kindled at her daughter’s 
courage. 

I am so sorry, duck,” she murmured sympathetically. 
‘‘You’ll both have felt the parting very much; but it’ll 
be a splendid holiday for Osborn; and — and I’m not 
sure whether it won’t be a splendid holiday for you, 
too.” 

Marie met her mother’s eyes with a full look. 

“ I am not sure, either, mother,” she said quietly. 

Grannie Amber looked down at the baby’s small, meek, 
round head. 

“You need a rest,” she murmured, “and this money 
will help you, won’t it, love?” 

“ I have two hundred a year, clear, for the children 
and myself.” 

“ He might have halved it ! ” said Grannie, in a sudden, 
indignant cry. 

Marie replied with a look of steel : “ I don’t think so 
at all, mother. And men always think that women ought 
not to have the handling of too much money, you 
know.” 

“ Don't I know 1 ” said Grannie, with unabated 
venom. 

“ Osborn has left me plenty. It’s far more than I man- 
aged on before,” 


REVIVAL 


203 


Tm glad of that, duck.’’ 

‘‘ Directly Osborn had gone I suddenly thought — and 
I got in a charwoman. She’s there now. It did seem 
queer.” 

Oh, that’s good, my love. I am glad of that. Now 
you’ll rest yourself and get your looks back, and I shall be 
round a great deal to help you with the children.” 

I want to ask you to do something for me to-day, 
mother.” 

Certainly, my love. Just name it.” 

I — I want a free day. To go into town and lunch 
and walk about by myself; no household shopping to do; 
no time to keep; no cooking to hurry back for. . . 

'' What a funny idea, duck ! ” replied Grannie, still 
carefully keeping up the attitude of old dunderhead; '‘but 
I’m sure I’ll be only too delighted to go back home 
with you, and take the children out on the Heath this 
afternoon. And I’ll put them to bed, too. You’ll 
help me with these very little children, won’t you, 
Georgie ? ” 

“ ’Ess, G’annie,” replied George importantly. 

" Mummie needn’t hurry back, need she, Georgie?” 

" She tan ’tay out all night,” replied George, showing a 
generous breadth- of mind. 

Grannie and mother both laughed heartily. 

" I’ll run and put on my things at once,” said Mrs. 
Amber, transferring the baby to Marie’s lap, " and I’ll 
go back with you now. I’m an idle old woman with noth- 
ing to do, and it will be a delight to me to take the chil- 
dren out.” 

They trundled the grey baby-carriage back across the 
Heath, and toiled up the stone staircase of Welham 
Mansions to Number Thirty. All the windows of the 


204 


MARRIED LIFE 


flat were opened; it looked almost fresh and bright once 
more; and a charwoman of stout build was dealing com- 
petently with the few remaining jobs. Marie paid her; 
instructed her to return to-morrow, and went to make her- 
self ready for town. 

She left home again at twelve-thirty, taking with her 
a replenished purse, and a stock of tremluous emotions. 
One was of dreadful solitude, a fear of loneliness, spine- 
less and enervating; another of defiance; another of ex- 
citement; another of bravado; another almost of 
shame. 

What should she, an old married woman with a family 
of three, want with a purposeless jaunt to town? Since 
the birth of George she had never done such a thing. 
She had never spent money on amusing herself, on pass- 
ing an agreeable time. 

It was almost as if, directly her husband, the master 
of her life and her children's lives, turned his back, she 
filled her purse from the store he had left behind him, 
and went off frivolling. 

‘‘I do not care!" she said to herself fearsomely. I 
do not care a damn. I'm off 1 " 

One o'clock found her in the West End, a shabby, 
thin-faced woman of the suburbs, rubbing shoulders 
with scores of other women jostling round the shop win- 
dows. All that she saw she longed for; but none of it 
was she foolish enough to buy. Some cold prudence, an 
offshoot of her curious anger of the morning which 
still lingered with her, restrained. Unformed, but work- 
ing in her mind, was the beginning of an impression that 
during this coming year she had some definite course to 
follow, plan to make; she felt, almost heroically, as if 
she were going to salve herself from something she had 


REVIVAL 


205 

not, till lately, before her glass, dared to define. She 
saw that women, caught intricately in the domestic toils, 
had a dreadful, hard, cunning battle to fight, and she 
felt as if in some way she was just beginning to fight it, 
but that it would tax her utmost resources. So she spent 
none of her money on the fashionable trifles of a moment, 
which she saw behind the plate-glass, but she gave herself 
a lunch. 

Debating long where to go, she went to the Royal Red 
and had a little table in an obscure corner behind a pillar, 
where she could see, but was hardly seen, even if any- 
one had wanted to look at this woman, apparently just 
one of a thousand suburban shoppers. She lingered long 
at her table to get to the full the worth of her three-and- 
sixpence; to watch the suave, gay women pass in and out, 
be fed and flattered and entertained. The great furs laid 
across their slender shoulders, the ephemeral corsages 
beneath, the hint of pearls on well-massaged necks, the 
luring cock of a hat, the waft of a perfume that was yet 
hardly so crude as definite perfume, all roused her hos- 
tility, her fighting sense. Not a woman there knew what 
passed behind the pillar in the breast and brain of the 
slim, shabby woman with the big eyes and wan face; none 
knew how she hated and feared; none knew of her prayers; 
none but would have smiled to hear that she even 
thought of entering with them the arena of women. And 
had a man glanced once her way he would not have glanced 
twice. 

All this she knew; she was setting it down definitely 
in her mind, like writing. When it was written she was 
willing to read it over and over again till she had learned 
it by heart. 

She had eaten an ice Neapolitaine with voluptuous 


2o6 married life 

pleasure and, calling her waiter, ordered coffee and a 
cigarette. 

She was not going yet. 

It was a long while since she had smoked, or even 
thought of it; and though she really did not care very much 
for smoking, she chose an expensive Egyptian now with 
the utmost pleasure. What a sensation of leisure it gave, 
this loitering at will, over a cup of coffee and a cigarette! 
Besides, it gave her longer to watch her enemies, to learn 
the modes and tricks of the day. 

After lunch she sauntered back into Regent Street and 
stopped by an American Beauty Parlour. She went in 
and inquired the price of a manicure. It would be one- 
and-sixpence. So she entered a warm wee cubicle full 
of beauty apparatus, sat down, and gave her right hand 
for the manicurist’s ministrations. 

The manicurist was a lithe, tall girl, with a small 
young, wicked face; and meekly demure. Her hair was 
sleeked down provocatively over her ears, in which 
emerald drops dangled. She was an Enemy. As she took 
her client’s hand and dabbled the finger-tips in a tiny red 
bowl of orange-flower water, Marie wondered, Without 
charity, who had given her those earrings of green fire, 
and why. 

The girl talked sweetly, as she was taught to do. She 
remarked on the coldness of the day and the trials of 
shopping in such bleak weather; on the bustle of the shops 
preparing for Christmas; on the smallness of Madame’s 
hands. 

They were a charming shape, might she say? But 
Madame had abused them. Madame had perhaps been 
gardening ? Gardening was becoming so fashionable, 
with a sweet glance at the client’s ensemble. Was that 


REVIVAL 207 

the reason for those broken cuticles, those swollen finger- 
tips and brittle nails? It was a thousand pities. 

Knowing, as she spoke, the futility, the obviousness of 
the lie, yet somehow unable to help speaking it, Marie an- 
swered in abrupt confusion. Yes, she had been garden- 
ing ; it — it was a favourite hobby nowadays ; all her 
friends. . . . 

With that sleek face before her, those fragile finger- 
tips handling hers, she would not for a fortune have con- 
fessed : ‘‘ I spoil my hands because I spend my days be- 
tween the stove and the sink; because Tve cooked and 
swept and sewed for a man and three children; because 
I wash and iron.” Secretly the manicurist would laugh 
and ridicule; in her smooth white face and twinkly ear- 
drops was the story of what she would think of such a 
domestic fool; of the woman who was the slave of man 
and home; who had lost her looks and hope in the servi- 
tude of married poverty. 

Presently the finger-nails were done; they did not look 
a great deal better even now, but they felt charmingly 
petted and soothed. Again the manicurist ran her eye over 
the other from head to heel, letting her glance rest at last 
upon her face. 

A face massage, madame?” she suggested. 

Marie hesitated, and the girl added, smiling : It would 
be half a crown.” 

I have not time to-day, thank you,” Marie said, ris- 
ing. She paid for the manicure and left the warm and 
scented place; she had nowhere particular to go, no one 
to talk to, and yet she did not wish to go home so early. 
It would have been a tame ending to her day and, be- 
sides, she had not seen all yet. She wanted to see the 
lights rise and twinkle along the streets, to watch the 


2o8 


MARRIED LIFE 


evening life come in like a tide, wave upon wave break- 
ing musically upon the city’s shore; and to feel that even 
then, though six o’clock had passed, and seven, and eight, 
she was yet her own mistress. She was sampling sensa- 
tions, not altogether new, but at any rate long forgotten. 
It occurred to her, as she turned out of the Beauty Shop, 
to go and call upon someone ; but upon whom ? She 
knew, as she asked the question of herself, that, while 
she had lost a score of light-hearted acquaintances upon 
her wedding day, she had since been too busy to make 
more. There were upon her limited horizon, in fact, 
only Julia and Rokeby. Julia, at this moment still 
afternoon, would be involved in much business, someone 
else’s business which she could not put aside as if it 
were her own to do as she pleased with ; but Rokeby called 
no man master. 

She hardly knew why she thought of going to tell 
Rokeby her news, but there was a want in her, a want 
of a wise someone’s comments, a kind someone’s sympathy. 
She boarded a City omnibus and was carried to King Wil- 
liam Street. 

Here Desmond had his prosperous shipbroking office, 
and made his enviable thousands and sharpened his in- 
nately sharp brain, so well concealed below his lacklustre, 
almost na'ive, exterior. 

A lift carried her up to the third floor, where she ar- 
rived before a door upon the glass panels of which were 
blazoned his name and profession, and pushing it open, 
she asked for him uncertainly. A clerk said doubtfully: 
‘‘Have you come about the typist’s situation?” and 
looked at her in a summary fashion which made her 
timid. 

She hated this timidity which had grown upon her 


REVIVAL 


209 

with the married years; a timidity based upon loss of 
trust in her womanly powers, loss of the natural arro- 
gance of beauty. Holding her head very erect, she re- 
plied : 

I am a friend of Mr. Rokeby's. Will you kindly 
say that Mrs. Osborn Kerr has called?” Second 
thoughts sent her fumbling in her bag and producing a 
card. 

You had better send in my card,” she said. 

Desmond was busy with a client when the card was 
laid before him, but when he had glanced at it, he took 
it up and looked again, as if not believing his eyes. ‘‘ In 
five minutes,” he told the clerk; and, turning to the client, 
he clinched in that remarkably short while an arrange- 
ment which they had been discussing and quarrelling over 
for half an hour. 

He stood up, waiting for Marie to enter. When she 
came, he was struck, not having seen her since the birth 
of the third baby, by the further alteration in her. How 
thin she was! And quiet! With that dullness which, in 
his judgment, too much domesticity always brought to 
women. Like most ultra-modern men, while secretly mak- 
ing a fetish of the softer virtues in woman, he wanted 
them expressed somehow in an up-to-the-minute setting. 
Yet he understood dimly the struggle of twentieth-cen- 
tury woman in trying to make herself at once as new 
as to-day and as old as creation. 

‘‘ Well, this is nice,” he said very kindly, taking her 
hand with deference. Lve a free hour, and lo! you come 
to fill it. Let me pull the visitor’s chair right up to this 
fire, and give you a cup of tea.” 

His kindness and attention were all about Marie with 
the benevolence of a new warm garment on a cold day. 


210 


MARRIED LIFE 


She sat down in the great soft chair which he wheeled 
forwards for her, loosened her out-of-date fur neckwear, 
and looked around her with feminine interest. 

"‘What a pretty office!’’ she said. “And you have 
flowers.” 

“ Ladies sometimes come to tea,” he replied smilingly, 
pressing a bell. 

To the clerk he said: “Get tea from Fuller’s, right 
away.” 

“ I ought not to hinder you,” said Marie ; and, as she 
said it, there came to her the fragrance of the memory 
how in her girl days she had, in the course of her busi- 
ness and pleasure, hindered many men like this, and how 
pleased and flattered they were to be thus hindered. She 
wished she could feel as sure of herself and her power 
to charm without the least exertion as she was then. She 
went on : “I really hardly know why I came, but I was 
in town; and I thought you’d like to hear the news about 
Osborn. He’s gone, you know; gone.” 

Rokeby wheeled right round to face her, in his swing 
chair: “I know,” he nodded, “at least I know the bare 
bones of it. He found time to ring me up yesterday and 
give me an inkling. So you’ve really sent him off, have 
you?” 

“Yes; this morning, at ten.” 

Rokeby felt for his words carefully, in view of what he 
saw in her face. 

“ It must have been a rush for both of you.” 

“ It was. But things are better like that. There isn’t 
so much time to think.” 

“ No,” said Rokeby. 

“If I’d known he’d told you, I wouldn’t have come round 
to hinder you this afternoon.” 


REVIVAL 


2II 


Don’t mention that word again, Mrs. Kerr. Fm 
proud and delighted. And I didn’t hear much yesterday, 
and I want all of it. What’s the whole game? ” 

She sat there telling him; the fire flushed her face so 
that its wanness disappeared; and in their wonder and 
bewilderment her eyes were big and solemn like a child’s. 
But the composure to which she had won was com- 
plete. 

It will be a splendid holiday for him,” she finished. 

He hasn’t had one since we were married. Of course, 
we’ve been nearly every year to the same rooms at Little- 
hampton, but with children it’s different. You can hardly 
call it a holiday.” 

You can’t, I should think.” 

She smiled seriously and passed it by. ‘‘ He was 
like a schoolboy let out of school,” she said with a sud- 
den jerkiness, ‘‘he was so pleased. Poor boy! I knew 
it must mean a lot to him not to have to worry about 
money any more for a whole year, and — and to get 
away.” 

“ Yes,” said Rokeby gravely, “ yes. And how are you 
going to celebrate your holiday, Mrs. Kerr?” 

She looked at him quickly. A smile broke round her 
lips. “ Do you know,” she dared, as if shocked at her- 
self, “ last night I was heartbroken ; this morning I was 
bitter; this afternoon I came up to town to try to shake 
it off ” 

“I hope you’ve shaken it?” 

“I — I hardly know. I shall miss him so when I get 
back. But — but I’ve got a whole year. A year! But 
why bother you with these things? A woman would un- 
derstand; Julia would.” 

“I suppose you’re making a day of it? Going to see 


212 MARRIED LIFE 

Miss Winter this evening perhaps, and tell her all about 
it?^’ 

She scarcely noticed the eager note in his voice. 

“That’s an idea!” she exclaimed. “I was wondering 
what rd do about this evening, and I was determined 
not to go home till ten o’clock. I don’t know why, but 
if I can make myself stay right away on my own pleas- 
ure till then it will be like breaking a spell. But why I’m 
talking like this to you I don’t know. You’ll think me 
mad.” 

“ No, I shan’t.” 

An office-boy staggered in with tea, and for a while 
the business of it kept them lightly occupied, and talk- 
ing inconsequently ; but presently Rokeby went back to: 

“So you are going to see Miss Winter this evening? 
Look here, Mrs. Kerr, Osborn would never forgive me 
if I let you go alone. I’ll take you — yes, please. Do 
let me! We’ll both give her a surprise.” 

Recovering a spark of the old audacity which her pretti- 
ness used to justify, she laughed: “No, you won’t. We 
shall want to talk — and talk. You’d be in the way.” 

“ I solemnly swear I won’t. I’ll wash up and do a 
lot of the jobs bachelor girls always keep for their men 
friends to do. I’ll sit and smoke in the kitchen. Honest, 

I will! There, now?” 

Her laughter was real and merry. “ You? What’s 
come to you ? ” 

“ I hardly know,” said Rokeby quickly, in a low 
voice. 

Marie’s hand and eyes were hovering critically over 
the dish of cakes; youth and delicious silliness had 
visited her, if but for an hour, and a curious kind of 
champagne happiness fizzed through her. The earnestness 


REVIVAL 


213 

of Desmond’s sudden look passed her by; at the moment 
there was nothing earnest in her; she was, all so sud- 
denly, a holiday woman out for the day. Selecting her 
cake, she began to eat it. 

It will be awf’ly good of you to take me there,” she 
answered ; it will be something to write and tell Osborn 
about.” 

Do wives have to hunt for topics for letters, as they 
have to hunt for suitable conversation, when husbands 
want it?” 

'‘Oh! have you noticed that?” 

“ I’ve noticed my married friends seem to have very 
little of interest to say to each other.” 

" Why is it?” 

" I don’t know. I think they give each other all they’ve 
got in a great big lump too soon. But I don’t know; how 
should I ? ” 

" I wonder if I could tell you. I think it’s because a 
man carefully robs a woman of all power to have any in- 
terest outside her home; but at the same time he votes her 
home interests too dull to talk about.” 

"Married life!” said Rokeby quizzically. 

" But there are beautiful things in it; children, you know. 
I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

They let a silence elapse as if to swallow up the memory 
of the things Marie shouldn’t have said, and after it he 
asked: "What time shall we go?” 

At six o’clock they were speeding down Cannon Street, 
along the Strand, and the gaudier thoroughfares of the 
West, in a taxicab, to Julia’s flat. 

Her delight at seeing Marie was obvious, but a veil of 
reserve seemed to drop over her vivid, strong face when 
she saw who escorted her. 


MARRIED LIFE 


214 

Rokeby would not take leave of Marie on the thresh- 
old, though; he followed her in and sat down, asking 
if he might stay. There was about him an air of 
smiling determination, and his eyes obstinately sought 
Julia’s, which as obstinately avoided his. She be- 
gan to chatter, as if to slur over a momentary con- 
fusion. 

I’ve only been in ten minutes, and I was going to 
settle down to a lonely evening. I’m awf’ly glad to 
have you, Marie darling. If Mr. Rokeby’s going to stay 
he’ll have to be useful. I’m afraid you find me almost 
deshabillee, but I’m one of these sloppy bachelors, as you 
know.” 

But Julia had a taut way of putting on even a silk kimono, 
and she could not have been sloppy had she tried ; her lines 
were too fine and clean. 

The two women went away to Julia’s bedroom, a 
little box like a furnisher’s model, and there Julia 
gleaned Marie’s news. But far from giving un- 
mitigated sympathy, she was almost crudely congratula- 
tory. 

It’s what most wives of your standing want badly. A 
year off. A year to go to some theatres, to find their own 
minds again; to look after their wardrobes, and thread all 
the ribbons in their cammies that they’ve been too busy 
to thread for ages. It’s no good coming to me for pity. 
I’m not sorry for you.” 

‘‘I — I’m not sure that I want you to be. I see what 
you mean. But ” 

‘^But?” 

Last night, when I knew, I was just heartbroken. I 
don’t know when I’ve cried as I did. For a while I thought 
I’d just have to die.” 


REVIVAL 215 

You won’t die. You’ll renovate yourself; you’ll get 
new feathers, like a bird in spring.” 

Marie looked slowly at Julia. 

I know.” 

Julia began to smile, first a smile of inquiry, then of 
delight. ‘‘’Rah! ’rah!” she screamed softly; “we’ll have 
Marie pretty again.” 

Marie took off her hat and coat and began to fluff her 
crushed hair. 

“ See my grey hairs, though, Julia?” 

“ They’re nothing.” 

“ My teeth, of course, haven’t been touched since I was 
married. I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford that, but 
I’ll try.” 

“ Marie,” said Julia, at an inexplicable tangent, “ for 
heaven’s sake why bring Desmond Rokeby here ? ” 

“Oh, do you mind, dear? He brought me.” 

“Mind!” said Julia, now inexplicably tart, “I don’t 
mind! Why should I mind anything about him? 
Only ” 

“Only?” 

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter! Let’s all be jolly, if he’s 
got to stay.” 

It was one of those gay, rowdy, delightful, laughing 
evenings which can happen sometimes. They were all 
three in the minute kitchen together, Desmond taking off 
his coat and rolling up his sleeves to cook, and ex- 
cellently he cooked, too. Julia tied an apron around him, 
and Marie twisted up a cook’s cap from grease-proof 
paper, and they laughed like people who have discovered 
the finest jokes in the world. There was no care; there 
was no worry; no time-table. No Jove-like husband, no 
fretting, asking wife, no shades of grocers and butch- 


2i6 


MARRIED LIFE 


ers had a place there. It was a great evening. No 
one was married. Everyone was young. Oh ! it 

was jolly! jolly! jolly! All one wished — if one 

stopped to wish at all — was that it might never 
end. 

But the end was at 9.30, punctual to the stroke of 
Marie’s conscience. At No. 30 Welham Mansions, Hamp- 
stead, were three little sleepers who depended upon her 
for all they needed in the world, and over them watched 

a tired old grannie who would fain go home to bed. 

Marie left the others suddenly, in case the strength of 
her resolution should fail her, crying, as she ran 
out: 

Now don’t Stop me! I’m going to put on my hat — 
and GO!” 

Julia got up to follow her quickly, but quick as she was, 
Desmond was quicker. He had his back against the closed 
door, facing her, and he said : 

‘"Julia! we’ll stop ragging. We’re alone for just two 
minutes. Let me ask you ” 

“ No! ” she exclaimed rebelliously. 

“Yes, I will! You couldn’t get the door open if 
you tried. Julia, ever since I saw you I believe I’ve wanted 
you, and every time I’ve tried to tell you you’ve 
checked me or driven me off somehow. Yet won’t you 
think ” 

“ I don’t want to.” 

“If you’d marry me ” 

“ You know you don’t believe in marriage any more than 
I do.” 

“ Not for any fools. But we’re different. Besides, 
you’ve altered me; converted me. You can do absolutely 
what you like with me. I’m yours. Let’s — let’s get 


REVIVAL 


217 

married to-morrow and set an example to ^em all of what 
married people should be/’ 

Are you mad? ” 

'‘Yes, about you,” Rokeby replied. He had lost his 
naive and lacklustre bearing, his eyes were alight and quick, 
and his fire warmed her as she stood before him, mutinous 
yet afraid. 

“ I shall never marry,” she said defiantly. 

" You will, sooner or later,” said Rokeby, " and you 
will marry me. Fll never leave you till you’ve done it, 
and then — then I’ll never leave you, either, Julia.” He 
advanced upon her, a sudden whirlwind, before whom she 
cringed back with a helpless sense she had never known 
before. He opened his arms, enclosed her in them, and 
kissed her by force, while she struggled and protested 
furiously under his lips. 

" Do you know,” he asked, " I came here to-night just 
to kiss you. Only that! I didn’t hope for any more 
satisfaction, but some day I shall have it. You’re not 
what you think you are. And I’ll make you very happy. 
As a looker-on I’ve seen a lot of the game called mar- 
riage, and I’d know how to make you happy. Don’t you 
believe it ? ” 

Released, she retreated to the other side of the 
room. 

"I don’t want to believe it; you’d better go; you’ve 
behaved disgracefully, and I don’t feel in the least like 
forgiving you.” 

" Very well,” said Rokeby, as Marie’s footsteps sounded 
on the parquetry of the corridor, " I’m going, but I shall 
come again, and again! You won’t get rid of me, I 
say, till you’ve married me. And then you’ll never be 
rid of me.” 


2i8 married life 

He swung round, laughing, and opened the door for 
Marie. 

‘‘ Now, Mrs. Kerr, Tm to see you well on your way 
home.’’ 

She looked from one to the other, at Julia tall and flam- 
ing, and Desmond diffusing a kind of electricity. 

'‘I believe you two have been quarrelling; I ought not 
to have left you alone.” 

We have been quarrelling frightfully. Miss Winter 
is never going to allow me here again.” 

Glad you realise that'' said Julia frostily. 

He went out into the hall goodhumouredly to find his 
coat and hat, and Marie’s umbrella, while the two women 
kissed good-bye. The fold of kimono that covered Julia’s 
bosom heaved rapidly and her eyes were very bright. She 
would not offer Rokeby her hand, but went to the front 
door with her arm round Marie’s waist. 

They looked back to wave at her before they ran down- 
stairs; she looked very tall and brilliant as she stood in 
her doorway, her head held high, and her mouth tightly 
set, and when the door had shut upon her, Marie wondered 
aloud : 

‘‘ What can have happened to annoy her so? ” 

I’ve done it,” said Rokeby, '' but don’t worry over 
it. These things adjust themselves, and nothing mat- 
ters at the moment, anyway, but seeing you safely 
home.” 

‘‘ You can’t come right out to Hampstead.” 

‘‘I can; and I should certainly like to, if I may. Os- 
born would never forgive me for leaving you at this time 
of night.” 

She thought how kind he was, and how restful. It was 
attractive to be looked after again, deferred to and con- 


REVIVAL 


219 

sidered. Rokeby drove her the whole way out in a taxi- 
cab and found the sincerity of her thanks, as they parted, 
very touching. As for Marie, not for years had she 
climbed all those cold stairs so buoyantly; and after her 
long day, as she put her latchkey in the lock, she sud- 
denly sensed the pleasure of coming home. There was 
nothing to do, in a rush, when she got in ; no pre- 
parations to make, or food to cook; no setting forward 
of work for to-morrow, for the charwoman was coming 
early. 

A man was a man certainly, and a quality to miss, but 
without him there was a great still peace in the flat. 

Grannie Amber, blinking drowsily, came out of the din- 
ing-room to meet her daughter. 

She noted the bright eyes and cheeks, and her heart beat 
joyfully. 

‘‘Had a nice time, duck?’’ 

“ Lovely, mother. I lunched by myself at the Royal 
Red, and watched the people. Then I had my fingers 
manicured, and went to tell Mr. Rokeby about Osborn, 
and had such a nice tea in his office ; he’s got such a pretty 
office. Then he took me to Julia’s flat, and we three had 
dinner together. Oh! we were jolly. Mr. Rokeby cooked; 
how we laughed! Julia made him wear one of her aprons, 
and I made him the sweetest cook-cap you ever saw. I 
don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.” 

“ He’s a nice man,” said Grannie approvingly ; “ I won- 
der if he’s thinking of marrying Miss Winter?” 

“ Mother, your head always runs on somebody marry- 
ing somebody else.” 

“ Well, duck. I’m an old woman, and in my long life 
I’ve noticed that they always do.” 

“ Julia hates men.” 


220 


MARRIED LIFE 


I don’t believe it, my love.” 

Marie went into her dining-room and looked around 
it with a new sense of authority; she was now a complete 
law unto that room and all in it. 

I’ve got a cup of soup for you here, dear,” said Grannie 
Amber, bustling to the fireplace. 

Mother, you shouldn’t trouble yourself ! But how nice 
it is!” She drank gratefully, then put the usual question 
with the usual anxiety : 

‘‘Babes been well? And good?” 

“ They’ve been lambs,” said Grannie warmly. 

“ What a pity I folded up Osborn’s bed, and put it in 
the children’s room! You could have slept here to-night, 
mother.” 

“ My duck. I’d rather sleep in my own bed,” said the 
old lady, “ and I’ll be putting my things on, and going 
there now. You have the woman coming in the morn- 
ing?” 

“ Yes — and every morning.” 

Mrs. Amber nodded approvingly. 

“ You’ll be very comfortable now, love.” 

Then she muffled herself in her wraps and went out 
bravely into the cold towards the old-fashioned flat across 
the Heath; and Marie, undressing, went to her bed, too. 
How still it was! The tiny breaths of the baby scarce 
stirred the immediate air. 

Where would Osborn be now? 


CHAPTER XVIII 


INTRIGUE 

Osborn passed that first night at the best hotel in Liver- 
pool. The term expenses provided for the best, in 
reason, of everything; and a good man at his job need 
not be afraid of making claims. Osborn was going to 
be a very good man at his job and, somehow, without any 
undue swelling of the head, he knew it. His chance had 
come, the big chance which had laid poor Woodall low, 
and sent him up, up, rejoicing. When they carried 
his rather goodlooking luggage — which he had bought 
new for his honeymoon — into a palatial bedroom of 
the Liverpool hotel, he experienced, only with a thou- 
sand degrees more conviction, that sense of freedom from 
care which his wife was even then timidly grasping, 
far away in London. He was provided for hand- 
somely and agreeably for three hundred and sixty-five 
days. 

All his liabilities were provided for, too. No unex- 
pected call could come to him, no fingers delve into the 
purse that he might now keep privately to himself. He 
was going out into a big world where life had never taken 
him before, and he was going untrammeled; strong, 
young. 

Osborn dressed for dinner that evening; he wore the 
links his mother-in-law had given him as a wedding 

221 


222 


MARRIED LIFE 


present, and a shirt whose laundering had been paid for 
out of that omnipresent thirty- two-and-sixpence, and the 
jacket cut by the tailor whom he had never been able 
to afford since. He looked a very nice young man, fresh, 
broad and spruce, but not too spruce; open-browed, 
clear-eyed and keen. He was now at the zenith of his 
physical strength, in his thirty-second year, untired and 
still eager. As he dressed, he looked at himself in 
the glass as a man regards himself upon his wedding 
day. 

He had remembered to find out about mails from Cook's 
and, before going in to dinner, sat down in a great lounge 
and scribbled a note to his wife; just this information, 
love, and a further injunction to take care of herself; 
and no more. Like other husbands who had been similarly 
placed domestically, he had no idea how this process of 
taking care was to be accomplished by a harassed and busy 
woman, but it was some satisfaction to express a verdant 
hope that it should be done. 

He went in, duty done, to an aldermanic dinner. He 
passed a very successful evening. Actually, only on the 
eve of his mission, he sold a Runaway car to a fat mer- 
chant prince who dined opposite to him; or at least he 
went as near to the actual selling as it was possible to 
go in the circumstances. He recommended him to their 
Liverpool agent, wrote a personal letter, gave his card 
and received one in return, and parted from his probable 
client with a feeling that the transaction was going 
through. 

He was off at daybreak next morning. 

A stupendous piece of luck befell him on board. 
They were only two days out when he found that a well- 
known theatrical management was taking a play, with the 


INTRIGUE 


223 


entire London cast, to New York. It was only on the 
second day, when, looking across the dining saloon, he 
saw a raven head on the top of a rather full neck and 
high shoulders, and met the gay and luring glance which 
he had met once before, to his secret thrill, across the 
Royal Red, on the night when he dined there with his 
wife to celebrate her birthday. 

Osborn was a free man; he had broken routine and 
was out adventuring; and he was goodlooking, he looked 
worth while. She was a rather stupid actress, with no 
magnetism but her looks, and no possible chance of ever 
in this world obtaining a bigger part than the minor one 
she at present had inveigled from the manager; and she 
liked well-set-up smart men, men who appeared as if they 
had money to burn. There were no obstacles placed in 
Osborn’s way. 

He was highly elated when the end of a week found 
him calling her familiarly ‘‘ Roselle,” when he could walk 
the deck with her after breakfast, and join her party for 
bridge in the afternoons, and withdraw to a warm cor- 
ner of the saloon with her after dinner, there to become 
better acquainted. He was at last, he said to himself, 
loosening those domestic chains which had hobbled him, 
and was doing more as other men did. 

She gulled him into thinking her clever; all she said 
and did and looked excited him ; she was so different from 
the women whom men of his class married and with 
whom only they became intimate; a fellow on two hun- 
dred a year with a wife and family could not afford the 
society of the stage. But a fellow with three hundred 
a year and any commission his smartness could make, all 
just for mere pocket-money, was in a different boat al- 
together. The sums he staked at bridge with Roselle and 


224 


MARRIED LIFE 


her party on those winter afternoons in mid-Atlantic used 
to keep the household at No. 30, Welham Mansions for 
a week. Sometimes he won and sometimes he lost; but 
either seemed to him immaterial in this new lightness of 
his heart. 

He was to be in New York two months, and she was to 
be there three months. 

She used to say reckless things to him which stirred 
the blood. Thus: ‘‘You and I, Osborn’' — he knew, of 
course, that familiarity with Christian names was a trait 
of the stage — “have met, and presently we shall part; 
and what was the good of meeting if this dear little friend- 
ship is just to be packed up with our luggage?” 

“ You can pack up mine, and I’ll pack up yours,” he 
said softly. 

“That’s a sweet way of putting it; you’re one of 
those light-hearted people who don’t mind saying good- 
byes.” 

“I say, Roselle, do you?” 

“ Saying good-bye to fellow-souls is always sad.” 

On the windy deck she used to wear a dark purple velvet 
hat slouched down and pinned close against her darker 
hair. It showed up the whiteness of her face, which even 
the saltwinds could not whip into colour, under the coat- 
ing of white cosmetic almost imperceptibly laid on. Os- 
born loved that hat, as he loved the graceful tilt of her 
skirt and the fragility of her blouses; and sometimes it 
occurred to him to question why men’s wives couldn’t wear 
things like that. One sunny afternoon they had, when, 
instead of playing bridge, they sat in a sheltered corner on 
deck and talked. 

“Where are you putting up in New York?” she asked 
that afternoon. 


INTRIGUE 


225 


‘‘ At the Waldorf Astoria/’ 

‘‘Are you really?” she said, and she thought in her 
shallow mind that he must be very well off indeed. 

Osborn did not tell her that his firm sent him to an 
expensive hotel for their own ends; it was pleasant to 
have her thinking what she did. He asked if he might 
call upon her in New York; if she’d have supper with 
him sometimes; come for a run in his two-seater which 
he was taking over with him. They made a dozen plans 
which, after all, could not hurt Marie, and the prospects 
of which were charming to a degree. 

They landed just before Christmas. 

Osborn had written his Christmas letters to his wife 
and children on board, and his first errand on landing 
was to mail hastily-chosen gifts to them. A box of sweets 
for the kids, a bottle of scent for Marie, these seemed 
to suit the occasion quite well. He even remembered a 
picture-postcard view of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel to 
bear seasonable wishes to Grannie Amber. Then Roselle 
claimed him. 

Osborn had a good deal of odd time to put at her dis- 
posal, and she disposed of it with no uncertain hand. His 
way was not so uphill as he had expected ; within a 
week he was touching big commission, bigger than he 
had dreamed of, with the prospects of plenty to follow. 
And driving his electric-blue, silver-fitted Runaway two- 
seater about New York, or over to Brooklyn, he placed 
Roselle in her inevitable fur coat and slouched down 
purple velvet hat, as a splendid business asset, beside him. 
At least he told his conscience that a smart woman in a 
car is unparalleled advertisement for it and perhaps he 
was right; but that was not the reason for her presence 
there. 


226 


MARRIED LIFE 


When they said good-bye, under the wintry trees of the 
remotest part of a great park, it hurt him. He set 
his hands suddenly on her shoulders, and looked into her 
eyes; and then, it being almost dusk, and no one very 
near, he slid an arm round her, and held her to him for 
one swift instant. When she let him kiss her, with 

a yielding as passionate as response, he was surprised 
at his own stupidity in not tasting such sweets be- 

fore. 

'' IVe got to go,’’ he said. '‘You’ve been a darling 
to me. I’m crazy about you; I suppose you know 

that?” 

Her slow smile drove deep dimples into her white 

cheeks; she looked at him warmly; and yet, had he not 
been too excited to note it, with an acute appraisement. 
"We’re to be here another month,” she said, not an- 
swering his query, " leave me your address ; you have 
mine.” 

"Will you write?” 

" Reams. And who knows? We may meet again some 
day.” 

"That’s what I feel; that we haven’t met just to part. 
You’re wonderful. You’re the most wonderful woman 
I’ve ever met.” 

" And you — you’ve never told me anything about your- 
self, Osborn.” 

" There’s nothing to tell.” 

He had Marie’s last letter in his breast-pocket at that 
moment, and as Roselle stirred against him he heard the 
slight crackling of the paper. It dropped like a trickle 
of cold water into his excitement and desire. He 
took Roselle’s arm lightly in his hand, and turned 
about. 


INTRIGUE 


227 

I must take you to tea somewhere/’ he said ; where 
shall we go ? ” 

In a shaded tea room, full of screens, rose-lights and 
china tinkling, he sat looking at her. She was wonder- 
ful; with the rather high set of her shoulders, her white, 
full neck, the depth of her hair and eyes, her short and 
tenderly kept hands, she was romance. You couldn’t 
imagine such a woman sinking into the household drudge 
whatever her circumstances; she stood for all that was 
easy and pleasant, scented and soft, in woman. Osborn 
felt, as many a man has done and will do again, all mem- 
ories, all fidelity slipping from him, in the lure of the hour. 
Leaning forward, he said imperatively: 

I’ll have to write every day. You’ll answer me, won’t 
you? ” 

‘^ Of course I will, you exacting boy.” 

In a very low voice he went on: 

I want to have you all to myself till to-morrow — 
till I’ve got to leave you. It would be heaven; 
but ” 

Roselle Dates was of that talented community of 
stupid women who understand and manipulate life 

through their super-instinct of sex merely; who know 
how to take all and give nothing; suckers of life and 

never feeders. She looked at him and sighed and 

smiled, and shook her head, and touching his hand, 
whispered : 

But that’s impossible. It isn’t often a woman makes 
a friend like you. Let it last a little longer, there’s a 
dear boy.” 

"" I’m sorry,” said Osborn. I suppose we’re all 
beasts.” 

She sighed again. ‘‘ Every inch of life is snared, 


228 ~ MARRIED LIFE 

for women. In a profession like mine you watch each 
step. My goodness, you do! Or you’d fall into one of 
the traps.” 

'' Isn’t it ever worth while falling in? ” 

She refused to answer. Becoming suddenly capri- 
cious with the caprice that is the armour of her kind, she 
wished to be taken home. After he had left her, he 
walked the streets moodily for an hour before going in 
himself. 

He had to pack for an early start next morning. In 
a bedroom where a prince might have slept, he threw him- 
self into an easychair and brooded. Roselle became more 
than ever desirable, as he imagined her, sitting in that 
shaded tea room, her fur coat opened and thrown back 
to show the fragile corsage underneath. She was romance; 
the fairy tale, which he had read and mislaid, found again. 
Putting his hand up, he pulled out his wife’s letter, and 
read it again cursorily before casting it into the wastepaper 
basket. 

How dull it was ! What a lack of sparkle and spon- 
taneity it showed ! Something seemed to happen to women 
after marriage, making them prosaic; growing little nagging 
consciences in them ; egging them on to a perpetual striving 
with things that were damned tiresome. And the letter 
that he would write back would be just as constrained; 
there would be no joy in the writing of it as there 
would be writing the letters that would be sent to 
Roselle. 

‘'My dear Osborn” (Marie wrote), “Thank you for 
your letter. You are very good to write so regularly 
every mail. We are so glad to know what a successful 
trip you are having. We are all very well; and mother 


INTRIGUE 


229 

gave the children a tree for Christmas, and we hung your 
box of sweets and my scent on it. They couldn't think 
how you had managed to put them there! Thank you 
so much for the scent. I am having the dining-room carpet 
cleaned. The children send their love and so do I. — Your 
affectionate wife, 

Marie." 

P.S. — Baby has cut another tooth." 

My God ! " said Osborn resignedly, as he tore the letter 
across. Marriage is a big mistake. To tie oneself up 
for life at twenty-seven. . . . 1 " 

3ft 5|c 3k 

Osborn was in Chicago, prospering exceedingly, when 
Roselle's second letter came. 

She was in the same city! 

He hurried to her without a moment's loss. She was 
staying at a boarding-house full of noisy young business 
people, among whom she was a sensation. She received 
Osborn in a great smudged parlour decorated with much 
gilt and lace curtains. 

Aren't you surprised? " 

‘‘ I was never so glad." 

I expect you were. I expect you've been as glad 
ever so many times." She looked at him shrewdly. I 
didn't tell you in New York," she said, letting her hand 
remain in his. They were alone in the horrible room. 

But my contract was for the passage out and three 
months playing with Sautree; not for the passage home. 
You see, I wanted to get out here somehow and see 
what I could do. It does one good to have been in the 
States." 


230 


MARRIED LIFE 


And now ’’ 

‘‘ Fm at a loose end.’’ 

She saw the quick flush on his face and the light in his 
eyes, and playfully put against his lips two fingers, which 
he kissed. 

Only temporarily of course. Fm going round the hotels 
to-day — I shall get plenty of entertaining to do. When 
Fm tired of this, I shall move on.” 

“ Why not let our moving on coincide ? ” 

It was what, vaguely, in her mind, Roselle meant 
to do. She wanted experience; but to gain it comfort- 
ably would need a certain amount of financing; and she 
thought she had tested the fairly satisfactory depth of his 
pockets, although he had told her nothing. 

I don’t know,” she reserved. ‘‘ What are your move- 
ments and dates? ” 

He told her eagerly. 

I’ve always longed to tour Canada,” she cried. 

Then tour it on your own. Only can’t we be travelling 
companions? I’ll see to your tickets and luggage and so 
on.” 

And I shan’t have any hotel expenses,” she added, 
lighting a cigarette; 1 shall work them off and see a 
profit.” 

Osborn’s year now took on for him the aspect of the 
most magnificent adventure sated married man ever had. 

Fancy us two trotting about the good old earth to- 
gether ! ” 

Don’t tell your friends,” she laughed. 

Trust me.” 

“ But I don’t. I don’t trust any of you.” 

You are a tease. Roselle, it’s so tophole to see you 
again; let me kiss you good morning.” 


INTRIGUE 


231 

She took the cigarette from her mouth to return his kiss ; 
she was bright-eyed and hilarious. She knew that he was 
a fool as men were, unless they were brutes; and you had 
to make the fools whipping-boys for the brutes. As he 
kissed her, she knew that she was going to use him ; to take 
all and give nothing. 

You're the dearest boy. And how's the car? " 

She's first-rate. Want her this morning? " 

You might run me around in her; job-hunting." 

Into the spring sun they drove; she had the inevitable 
fur coat and the hat he loved, and she looked beautiful. 
By the time he ranked the car outside one of Chicago's best 
restaurants for lunch, she had what she called a pocketful 
of contracts, to sing at this restaurant and that; to dance 
for her supper and half a guinea at a ruinous night club, 
for she could do everything a little. But her greatest asset 
was her beauty. 


CHAPTER XIX 


ANOTHER WOOING 

Osborn’s letters told Marie very little of his doings; they 
almost conveyed the impression, though he would have been 
uneasy to know it, of careful epistles penned by a bad 
schoolboy. His letters from Chicago might have been 
replicas of those from New York; from Montreal he began 
on the same old note, though, in answer to her request 
to teach a stay-at-home woman descriptive geography, he 
once launched forth into an elaborate account of his rail 
journey on the Canadian Pacific, from Montreal westwards. 
Marie was not disappointed in the letters; they were what 
she would have expected. But sometimes, as she read their 
terse and uninteresting sentences, their stodgy bits of in- 
formation, she smiled to think how marriage changed a 
man. 

How dull it made him ! 

How irritating and constrained it made him ! How 
prosaic ! How it walled-up passion, as one read how a nun 
who had loved too much was walled-up, in the old fierce 
days, with bricks and mortar ! 

''My dear Marie,” (or sometimes "Dear Wifie”), — 

"How are you all getting along? Pm in now, 

as you will see by my changed address. Business has 
been fairly good. ... It was rather a pretty journey 


ANOTHER WOOING 


233 

here; I must send George a book about the wild flowers 
on the prairies. ... I am glad to hear you are all so 
comfortable. Are you going earlier to Littlehampton 
this year, or shall you wait till the summer as usual? 
Of course, when I went with you, we had to go in the 
summer because my turn for holidays came then ; but 
I should think the rooms would be cheaper earlier in 
the year. I am rather glad you are having the carpet 
cleaned. . . . 

With love to you and the children, 

'' Your Affectionate Husband.’’ 

In the spring a sorrow came with a shock into 
Marie’s even life. Grannie Amber died suddenly. In 
the evening she had played with the children at No. 
30, and in the morning she was found in the little 
old-fashioned flat on the other side of the Heath, sitting 
in her easychair by a dead fire, with her bonnet and cloak 
on, just as she had sat down to rest for awhile on her 
return. 

She left her daughter a good deal of old furniture which 
sold for a fair sum to dealers; and an income of two 
hundred and twenty pounds a year. 

For a while sorrow kept Marie much to the rut in which 
she had moved since Osborn’s departure; but the grief for 
a parent is so natural and inevitable a grief ; it is not as 
the grief for a husband or a child; and when the first warm 
days of April came Marie took some very definite steps 
forward on that road where she had, last December, set 
her feet. It was Julia who roused her finally to the 
course. 

Julia came and said: Do you know, my dear, you’re 

years younger? You’re your pretty self again. And what 


234 MARRIED LIFE 

are you going to do now that you are such a rich young 
woman ? ’’ 

It was a week later that the capable maid was installed 
in the flat. She slept in a tiny room which had hitherto 
been relegated to boxes, but which now was furnished with 
one or two left-over pieces from Mrs. Amber's sale, and 
the hall-porter, who realised that Mrs. Osborn Kerr had 
inherited money, was pleased to care for the boxes. The 
servant brought rest and charm into that flat; and George 
went half-daily to a near-by school, taking himself to and 
fro with the utmost manfulness. 

Marie paid at last those longed-for visits to the 
dentist. 

* 

Marie was having the first dinner-party for which she 
had not to cook herself, and the party consisted of Julia 
and Desmond Rokeby. 

Rokeby had leapt at the invitation flatteringly; but Julia 
had been inscrutable in her demur, until begged in such 
terms as were hard to refuse. 

‘"You're the only two people I really know intimately,’' 
Marie said; “if you refuse, you'll spoil it all. In fact I 
don't believe I can have a man to dinner alone without 
exciting Mr. and Mrs. Hall Porter." 

When she uttered this little vain thing, she laughed and 
looked in the glass and patted her hair. 

“ I'll come," Julia promised. 

As Marie Kerr came out of her bedroom and pro- 
ceeded down the corridor to inspect the table arrange- 
ments, she was a pretty picture of all that a well-dressed, 
happy, healthy young woman should be. She paused 
by the door of the erstwhile dressing-room to look in on 
the two elder children, then entered the dining-room. 


ANOTHER WOOING 


^35 

Spotless napery and most of the wedding-present silver 
equipped the table, as it used to do in the early days of 
her marriage. Between the candlesticks were clusters of 
violets. A bright wood fire burned upon the hearth, but 
the golden-brown curtains were not yet drawn upon the 
evening. The golden-brown carpet, newly cleaned, was 
speckless again. Marie moved about, improving on the 
table arrangements, and the hands which touched this 
or that into better design were little, slim and white. 
The finger nails had regained their tapering prettiness. 
And as she smiled with pleasure, between her lips an 
unblemished row of teeth showed. She wore black, to 
her mother’s memory, but her gown was the last word 
in cut and contour; it opened in a long V to show her 
plump white neck ; underneath the filmy bodice a hint 
of mauve ribbons gleamed. In her ears slender ear- 
rings twinkled. They were amethyst, and had been her 
mother’s. She had put them on for the first time that 
evening as she dressed, because, regarding herself 
earnestly in the glass, there had risen up over her 
shoulder, for no reason whatever, the sleek pale face of 
the manicure girl, who wore emeralds in her ears. And 
when she had clipped them on she was thrilled; they 
gave her a distinctive, a resolute charm. She could 
smile at herself again in that glass, at the colour and 
light and verve which had come back to her. The face 
pictured there had all the roundness, the softness and 
pinkiness of the face of the bride Marie, who had waked 
and looked therein on wonderful mornings, but it held 
more than the face of Marie the bride. It was strong; 
it had firmness and judgment and humour. It was no 
fool of a face. Yet, as the wisest and strongest of women 
can delight in vanities, so Marie delighted in the ear- 


236 MARRIED LIFE 

rings which she wore to-night, as an inspiration, for the 
first time. 

From her dining-room Marie went to the sitting- 
room, rosy in the light of another wood fire. Every day 
now she used her sitting-room. Tea was brought to her 
there, placed at her elbow as she sat in a cosy chair before 
the fire, and she drank it at leisure — while the maid gave 
the children their meal in the dining-room. In that chair 
by the fire, all the spring, Marie had read the new books, 
for she could afford to pay a library subscription. In 
that chair, as she rested, the lines had smoothed from her 
face, her neck had grown plump again, and the stories 
of modern thought, of modern love and its ways, had 
stimulated her brain once more to thoughts of its own. 
She loved the sitting-room better than she had loved it 
even when it was first furnished; it was now peculiarly 
her own. When she thought of Osborn’s return, as she 
did now and then with a curious mixture of feelings, 
she knew, half-guiltily, that somehow she would 
grudge him a share in those pleasant evenings by 
the fire. 

Marie sat down to wait for Julia and Desmond, and, 
taking up her half-finished novel, put her silk-stockinged 
feet on the fender, leaned back, and opened the book at 
the place where she had left the story. It was a love 
story, and as she read she thought : How well I know 

this phase! and that phase! . . . but we will just see what 
happens after they’re married.” Her thought was not 
bitter, only interested and curious, because her own 
hurt was over, and a wisdom, a contentment, had 
come. 

Julia and Desmond arrived together, much against 
Julia’s will; and they all sat down in the pretty pale room. 


ANOTHER WOOING 237 

while the maid drew the curtains upon the gathering dusk 
and switched on the light. 

They sat and talked of trivial things, waiting for the 
serving of dinner to be announced; and Marie remembered 
how often, in the past years, she had longed to sit there 
comfortably, thus till a well-trained servant should 
open the door noiselessly and say : Dinner is served, 

ma'am.’’ 

Now it happened every night. 

They went in to a well-ordered dinner; there was a 
pleasant peace and harmony in the flat; and as Rokeby 
looked at Marie’s face, which had won back all its old 
prettiness, as well as attaining the strength of the woman 
who has suffered, he did not marvel, but he was a little 
sad. And he wondered slightly just, what was going to 
happen to Osborn when he came home. But Julia, as 
she looked at Marie, was triumphant; she did not wonder 
what was going to happen to Osborn; she thought she 
knew. And all dinner she tried to hurl tiny defiances into 
Rokeby’s teeth, asking with sparkling malice : 

Isn’t Marie looking her own self again? Isn’t it lovely 
to see her? Doesn’t grass-widowhood suit her? Isn’t it 
a screaming success ? ” 

Rokeby knew what Julia meant, but his patience was 
invincible. 

There was a piano in the flat now ; it had been 
Grannie Amber’s, and was old, but still it fulfilled its 
purpose of a musical instrument. It stood in the sitting- 
room, across one of the corners by the fire, and after 
dinner Marie played and Julia sang; and when she re- 
fused to sing more, it was Desmond’s turn. He looked 
through Marie’s pile of music, selected a song, and sat 
down to play his own accompaniment with a light and 


MARRIED LIFE 


238 

beautiful touch which came as a surprise to the listening 
women, who knew nothing of his drawing-room talents. 
He went from song to song, and all at once Marie, trans- 
ferring her gaze from contemplative dreams, saw Julia's 
face. Julia leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, 
her chin in her palms, looking at the man at the piano, 
and in her eyes ran the old tale, and her red lips smiled 
and her breast heaved. But she became conscious of 
Marie's look, and sitting up sharply, drew, as it were, a 
blind down over the light. 

“Julia?" Marie said to herself, all wonder, ''Julia!'' 

She looked at Rokeby's creaseless back, at his fingers 
wandering over the keys, and for the first time she noticed 
how sensitive, how caressing the fingers were. Yet that 
two people in her intimate circle could contemplate that 
through which she herself had passed painfully, as through 
ordeal by fire. ... 

It made her very kind to them both, though a small 
stir of queer jealousy was in her. Before hell they would 
know heaven. Love and marriage began with the celestial 

tour. . . . 

When they came out into the hall presently, to put 
on their outdoor wraps, she beckoned them to the door 
of the children's room. The baby had joined the two 
elder ones, and three small cots now stood in a row, 
closely packed. A night-light gave enough glimmer to 
see the warm faces lying peacefully on the three pillows. 
The women crept in and looked down upon a scene 
which will always make women's hearts sing, or ache; 
and Rokeby followed. To his lover's mind, never had 
Julia Winter appeared so adorable as when she bent low 
over the fat baby, and murmured to it the small feckless 
loving things that all women always have murmured 


ANOTHER WOOING 


239 

to all the babies in the world. She touched its out- 
flung hand delicately with a finger, and lingered there, 
filled with woman’s world-old want. And out of the 
twilight Marie sent a whisper which reached them 
both. 

Of course, you’re never going to marry, either of you. 
But if you ever want to, and you’re hanging back, won- 
dering, just don’t wonder. Remember that the children 
are worth — everything.” 

Thank you,” Rokeby whispered fervently in her 

ear. 

Julia said nothing, but straightened herself and passed 
out. 

Rokeby was after her in a second to hold her coat. The 
way in which she turned her back on him so that he might 
lift it on was peculiarly ungracious. 

Marie was in the background, wanting a lover again. 
When they had gone she drew back the curtains, threw 
up the windows, and leaned out into the sweet, chill spring 
night. She drank it and loved it, and all her being cried 
out for love. 

But she did not want love grown old, which came in and 
put on its slippers, and grumped : ‘‘ Can’t those kids keep 

quiet?” if it heard the voice of the children of love, and 
which hid itself behind a hedge of daily paper, or flung 
out again from home, in the ill-tempered senility of its 
second childhood. 

She wanted love new-grown ; with a bloom upon it, fresh 
and young; love at its beginning, before it was ripe and 
over-ripe, and spoiling and falling from its tree; such a 
love as she imagined Julia and Desmond even then to be 
driving towards. 

In a taxicab — for where else in all London could he 


240 


MARRIED LIFE 


be alone with her? — Rokeby was taking Julia home. She 
allowed it in spite of herself; yet was angry with them 
both for the circumstance which brought them together 
close, which enclosed them in a privacy which made her 
remember, with a vividness which disturbed her, the sensa- 
tions of that first and only kiss. He was asking her 
again : 

‘^Haven't you changed your mind, Julia? Can't you 
relent? " 

‘‘You know what I think about marrying.” 

“ I thought I did. But to-night when I looked at 
you looking at those kids, I knew differently. You 
want to be married and have children of your own. I 
don't know as much about me — don't know,'' he said 
in a slight break of despair, “ that I come into the picture 
much.'' 

It was dark enough to hide her flush. 

“When I ask ‘Can't you relent'?'' said Rokeby, “I 
ought to say instead ‘Can't you confess?' That's what 
you don't want to do.'' 

“If '' she began. 

“Yes, dear. If?” 

“ If I married you ” 

She paused a long while and he declared passionately: 
“ You're afraid to risk marriage and yet you want to. 
You don't know what to do. You like being loved; you 
pretend you don't, but you do. You're feeling how 
sweet it all is. But you will not own it even to your- 
self.” 

And she answered : “ I am afraid.” 

“ I know you are,” said Rokeby ; “ and so am I. Haven't 
you thought of that? ” 

“What do you mean?'^ 


ANOTHER WOOING 241 

Why, look around and see the muddle and mess most 
people make of the contract/’ 

That’s what I mean.” 

So do I. Why shouldn’t I be afraid as much 
as you are? If we got married and muddled and 
messed things up, wouldn’t it hurt me as much 
as you? ” 

‘‘ Not according to what I’ve seen. Most men ” 

I’m not most men. I’m just me. You’re you. We’re 
different. Besides, we’ve seen and thought and argued 
it out to ourselves as well as together. Couldn’t you risk 
it?” 

‘‘ You know what I want; complete freedom.” 

"" Well, you should have it. And you know what I 
want? ” 

Yes?” 

Complete freedom, too.” 

‘‘Oh?” she said uncertainly, with a jealous note in her 
voice. 

He laughed. “Couldn’t I have it, then? Well, to 
tell you a secret, you couldn’t either. But another 
secret is that, probably, neither of us would really want 
it.” 

“ That’s true. It’s dreadful the way married people learn 
to cling to each other.” 

“ Well, what else would you cling to? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Well; won’t you risk it? ” 

“ I think, perhaps, I dare if you dare.” 

The biggest moment of Rokeby’s life was when he took 
her, for the second time, into his arms, and felt her lips 
respond to his. She shut her eyes and saw again the vision 
of the three cots side by side in a dim room; and his eyes. 


242 MARRIED LIFE 

on her face, saw the mother-ecstasy there. You wonder ! ” 
he exclaimed. 

Why?^’ 

“ To give me such a fright when all the while you've been 
feeling this ! " 

It was a long drive from Hampstead, and all the time 
she was within his arms, and all the time he told her of 
all they would be to each other; of how he loved her. And 
at last she stood alone in her flat, with her bedroom lights 
switched on, looking at a radiant creature in the glass, and 
crying within herself : 

Is this really Julia Winter? " 

Already the homelike quality of her home had vanished; 
the dear possession of her things had become less dear. 
She could think of another home, a bigger one, and a hearth- 
place with her husband's face opposite her own. She sat 
down by the dressing-table, and laid her hands idly in her 
lap, and thought all the rosy things that women in lov€ 
do think. 

She lunched the next day with Desmond as a matter of 
course. He called for her at her office, and drove her away 
possessively. There was no more solitude for her, no more 
proud loneliness, no more boastful independence. Already 
she clung and already she enjoyed it. When, over the table, 
he asked : Isn't it nice being engaged ? " she nodded, 

smiling, and answered : I'm wondering why I haven't 

done it before." 


CHAPTER XX 


SEPARATION 

In November Marie had the letter which announced Os- 
born's imminent return. 

. . In another week," he wrote, “ I shall be with 
you all again. It will be good to see you. Of course, 
this has been rather a rag, and I think I shall hold down 
the job for ever and evermore; but a year is a long 
time, isn't it? I look forward to coming home. I shall 
have a lot to tell you, but I expect I shall want to hear 
your news first, and how George has got on at school, and 
so on." 

The letter had an unwonted postscript: I wonder if 

you've missed me, old girl." 

It was waiting for Marie on a grey afternoon when 
she returned from a lecture, for which, a year ago, she 
would have needed a dictionary, but which now entered 
her brain glibly and was at home there. All that after- 
noon she had been listening to an exotic discourse on 
''Woman and her Current Philosophy"; and now — here 
was Osborn's letter, suggesting calmly, proprietorially 
almost, his re-entry into her life. Was it possible that he 
had been away for a whole year? Or possible that he had 
been away for only a year? Rapid as the stride of Time 
had been, he was already a stranger, someone dimly per- 
ceived, arriving from another life, and hardly making his 
presence felt. 


243 


244 


MARRIED LIFE 


She stood reading the letter attentively, noting its 
points and phrases with even detachment ; its arrival 
arrested her thoughts, although she had known it must 
come soon. Its sender was already on his way to her, 
expecting the eager, welcome of home; and home had noth- 
ing but stereotyped compliments to offer. Who was he, 
anyway ? 

Just the man who had made the domestic laws in No. 
30, had made them disagreeably and could make them no 
longer, whose power was broken. The keeper of the purse ; 
the winder of the clocks of life; the hostile element in a 
peaceful day; the shade of a dead lover long since trampled 
under the domestic battle-ground. 

It was almost curious that he had ever existed. 

She came for the second time to the postscript and 
smiled vaguely and faintly. He wondered if she had missed 
him. 

Yes. She had certainly missed him. 

As Marie Kerr stood by the fire in her sitting-room with 
Osborn's letter in her hand, she awoke fully, as from a 
dream, to the understanding of what was about to befall 
her. 

She was once more, after this year of miraculous 
growth and power and recovery, to take unto herself her 
husband. 

The door opened and the maid came in quietly, a teacloth 
over her arm, the tray in her hand. She arranged all to 
please the taste of the mistress who stood watching as if 
she watched something unusual. 

For a whole year, in that flat, she had been the person 
whose will was government, who had to be pleased and 
obeyed. She had made the laws, kept the purse, and set 
the clock. 


SEPARATION 


245 


It had been a wonderful year. 

She laid aside her furs, sat down and poured out her 
tea. Presently she heard George come in — he now went 
to school for the whole, instead of the half day — and the 
happy clatter of the children in the dining-room. There 
was no one to cry testily : For God’s sake keep those 

children quiet! ” as if the children were aliens — crimes of 
the mother. 

When she had finished her tea, and had heard the 
maid come out of the dining-room, she went in, to romp 
with her children. It was an hour she loved and for 
which she now had zest; she could enjoy it to the full. 
They played Blind Man’s Buff, in which even the baby 
joined staggeringly, and Hunt the Slipper — the baby’s 
little one, which she wanted to keep whenever it was 
smuggled under the edge of her little flannel petticoat; 
and for the last ten minutes Marie went back to the 
sitting-room to tinkle on the piano, while the maid was 
requisitioned once more to make a fourth to play Musical 
Chairs. Then the children came into the sitting-room, 
hand in hand, and stood by the piano and sang the lullaby 
their mother had taught them. She joined her voice to 
theirs with all its old strength and sweetness. And 
she heard their prayers and tucked them up in their 
beds. 

Then she went into the room which for a year had been 
hers and, while she changed into her soft black frock, the 
realisation came that she was again to share it. Her lips 
curled. 

I won’t! ” she said to herself. 

Why couldn’t they go on for ever in this flat as they 
were now, sufficient unto themselves, she and the 
children ? 


MARRIED LIFE 


246 

She returned to her book by the fire. And while she 
read on deeper into the love-story, absorbed and credulous 
in spite of herself, the front door bell rang. 

Julia and Desmond Rokeby came in with a great air 
of mystery and jubilation. They walked with the rich 
expectancy of people treading golden streets, and though 
they came up to Marie, captured and embraced her, laughed, 
and began relevant explanations both together, their eyes 
looked through her, away and beyond her, and she had 
a sense of being right outside their scheme for ever and 
evermore. 

Loneliness assailed her rather bleakly as she stood with 
a smiling mouth, gazing from one to the other and trying 
to gather the gist of their news. 

‘‘ We know you’ll be awfully surprised,” Julia cried, treat- 
ing her to squeezes of nervous rapture, but ” 

Now, darling,” said Rokeby, ‘‘ let me. You see, Marie, 
we’ve gone and done for ourselves. May we sit down 
with you just a moment while I tell you? I knew that 
Julia ” 

‘‘ He was so stupid about it,” said Julia, glowing. 

Don’t cut in and spoil the story, dearest,” he urged. 

I knew she’d never make up her mind really to get 
married, you know, Marie, so this afternoon I met her 
coming out of the office, drove her to a church where all 
arrangements had been made, took one of those handy 
permits out of my pocket — a special licence, you know — 
and ” 

You’re married,” said Marie Kerr in rather a dull way 
which disappointed them both. 

We are.” 

After all, Marie,” said Julia breathlessly, don’t you 
think it’s the nicest way; without any fuss and premedita- 


SEPARATION 247 

tion, and bridesmaids, and cake and things? Just our two 
selves/' 

It was splendid," said Rokeby. I'm the first man 
I know who ever really enjoyed his wedding." 

Marie sat between them and held a hand of each; after 
a while she answered: 

'' I do congratulate you both ; it's all so exciting and 
romantic. Oh ! I do hope you'll always be very 
happy." 

Thank you, dear," Julia beamed. 

We know we shall always be very happy," said 
Rokeby. 

^‘And now?" Marie asked with an effort. 

'' We're going honeymooning," said the bride- 
groom. 

Again she sat silent, keeping the smile upon her 
lips. 

""Where are you going?" she asked by and by. 
"" We went to Bournemouth. We had such a delightful 
time. ..." 

"" Our plans are uncertain," said Rokeby. 

"" That means you are going to hide." 

"" For a while we are ; no letters ; no telegrams ; no in- 
trusions of any kind. Just us. See how marriage takes 
a hardened bachelor!" 

""And a hardened spinster!" Julia chimed. 

"" I do hope," Marie repeated, "" that you'll be very happy. 
When will you come back ? " 

"" Early next month," said Julia. 

"" Perhaps," Rokeby qualified. 

"" And the first thing we do," said Julia affectionately, 
"" will be to come and see how our Marie is, left all alone 
without us." 


248 


MARRIED LIFE 


Don’t Marie begged. ‘‘You’re making me gulpy. 
For two pins I’d cry. You two — you’ve just been every- 
thing to me this year, after the children. You don’t know 
how lonely you’re making me feel.” 

“ But soon Osborn ” 

Osborn’s coming home next week.” 

“ Oh, great ! ” Rokeby cried ; and Mrs. Rokeby 
added: “I am glad. Now you won’t be lonely any 
more.” 

“ I don’t know,” Marie said quietly. 

She took Julia’s bare left hand from her muff and looked 
at the rings and stroked it. 

“ I love a new wedding ring,” she said. 

“ Our train, darling,” Rokeby reminded his wife. 

“ We must fly,” said Julia, rising. “ Our taxi’s outside, 
with all the clothes I’ve had time to pack, upon it. Des- 
mond had packed in anticipation, the wretch! And we’ve 
only got an hour — but we just had to come in and tell 
you before we went.” 

“ I hope you and Osborn will have another honeymoon 
like ours is going to be,” Rokeby cried as they hurried 
through the hall. 

She shook her head, vaguely smiling, but her lips would 
frame nothing. She was glad to shut the door upon their 
happiness. It seemed as if everything young and fierce 
in her were pulling at her heart. How she wanted it 
again, that amazing rapture and discovery! As she sat 
down again by her fire in the quiet flat, she would have 
bartered half the remaining years of her life for just that 
first year over again. 

She went across to the window, pulled aside a 
curtain, and beheld rows and darts of lights like stars; 
street lights and house lights beckoned to her ; she ♦ 


SEPARATION 


249 

opened the window slightly and the distant sound of 
traffic, the drums of London rolling, excited and aff rayed 
her. 

She felt too young for the sedateness into which her life 
was settling. 

Restless as she was, she had trained herself too well 
in the ruthless habits of method and industry not to 
begin automatically to set all in order against the 
coming of the master of the home. Feeling the need of 
doing rather than of thinking, she went to the bureau, 
and picked her account-books from their pigeonholes. 
Accurate and businesslike, they should be presented. 
They were ruled with neat margins, the columns headed 
precisely; each quarter of the year showing a favour- 
able balance in hand. There was no doubt but that 

she was a creditable housekeeper. She opened them 

one by one memorising with a certain pleasure their 

tributes to her capacity. One big item had been wiped 
off altogether last spring, after her mother’s death: the 
rest of the furniture instalments, which, on the ex- 

tended system for which Osborn had been obliged to ar- 
range after George’s birth, would have dragged on for two 
years more. Grannie Amber’s sale had more than paid for 
all. 

He can’t ^say I haven’t been careful,” she thought. Be- 
sides, she was now a woman with an income of her own; 
with two hundred and twenty pounds a year in her pocket, 
the right to which no man could question. If he demurred 
at the maid, and at George’s school bills, she could point 
to her ability to pay. 

She knew how greatly she had changed during their 
separation; to the change that might have been wrought 
in Osborn she gave little thought, not caring much. 


MARRIED LIFE 


250 

She supposed that he would come home much as he 
left it, refreshed doubtless, better-tempered, and full of 
his holiday, to the stories of which she would give a 
dutifully interested hearing. But that he could ever 
rouse again in her the passion and pain which had 
prostrated her on the night when she knew he was to 
leave her was ironically impossible. As she sat over 
her account-books, her memory cast back to that eve- 
ning, how she had stood, in silent agony, beside the 
table, sorting over his stock of clothes; how feverishly 
and blindly she had sewed, trying to hide from him all 
that to-morrow meant to her; how, when he had gone 
to bed, she had kneeled by his chair and sobbed, and 
prayed that no other woman should ever wean him from 
her. . . . 

What an extraordinary exhibition! What weakness of 
temper and nerve! 

She knew it was more. It had been the terribleness of 
love. 

And now?’’ she mused. 

It made her smile a little, lazily and serenely. 

But now and again she sighed with a sharp envy, thinking 
of Julia and Desmond. 

She waked often in the solitude of the night, imaging 
the bride and bridegroom on the track of rapture, following 
the unwaning star. 

In the morning there was a cablegram for her, reading : 

Home on Thursday. — Osborn.” 

To-day was Monday. She stood with tight lips for a 
moment wondering just how to set this scene of reunion; 
the flat was not large, comprising as it did the tiny slip 
of a room in which the maid slept, the children’s room, 
her own, and the two sitting-rooms and kitchen. All the 


SEPARATION 251 

day she arranged and rearranged the accommodation in 
her head. 

She was not only reluctant for Osborn, but almost 
shy of him; he had left her thoughts so that it seemed 
impossible that he had ever had the right to intrude, at 
all hours, on her privacy ; impossible that it should 
ever be so again. After all, there were many husbands 
and wives who went their own way, led their own lives, 
and the outside world never knew. To such a con- 
fraternity would she and Osborn now belong, living under 
one roof, but separated, separated not only by walls, but 
will. 

For she did not want him any more; she could not 
contemplate his assumption of the husbandly role. It 
sounded strange as she uttered it aloud to herself, but there 
it was. 

'' I do not want him any more.'’ 

She thought : “ Had he never gone away, had 
we gone on living as we lived then, year in, year out, this 
would never have happened. People don't get out of a 
deep rut like that unless they're helped out. But now 
I've had a year to get my looks back; to sit down and 
think, and I know things that I should never have guessed 
before." 

After she had taken the baby for her morning airing 
on the Heath, she left the two younger children with 
the maid, and went into town to lunch. She chose 
again the Royal Red, but not the table behind the 
pillar from which she had peered, glad of its shelter 
for her shabbiness, a year ago. She took a table at the 
side of the room where she could see and be seen, and 
she looked at the other women without envy or hatred, 
with no more than a level sense of rivalry which was 


252 


MARRIED LIFE 


almost pleasant. If she had not known how well she 
looked, the glances of men would have told her. She 
lingered long over her coffee, enjoying her opportunity and 
her freedom, and telling herself — resolved as she was that 
it should not be so — Well, it's probably my last time 
like this." 

She was in Regent Street after lunch, looking into a 
blouse shop, when she saw close at hand the Beauty Parlour 
sign which brought to her memory at once the sleek pale 
girl with the emerald earrings. Something made her 
curious to see the girl again, and she went in, to find her 
still there, the emeralds still in her beautiful close ears, 
but sharper set, a year wearier. 

She uttered charming things of madame's white hands. 
And, surely, she had never had the pleasure of seeing 
madame there before? 

Madame replied: ‘‘No; you have never seen me here 
before." 

She reflected : “ It's very true, that. No one had ever 

seen me, this me, a year ago." 

Just as she had felt no hate for the women in the Royal 
Red, so her sense of hostility to the girl bending over her 
hand had vanished. She was a friendly rival, not to be 
feared. And she was not so peerless, after all; there were 
flaws under the powder with which she coated her pale 
skin. 

“ I have never seen prettier nails, madame," said the 
manicurist, as she smeared on cream. 

After she left the Beauty Parlour Marie had nowhere 
to go. There was no Rokeby to give her tea in his 
comfortable office while he offered her business advice; 
he had been very good with his advice over the ques- 
tion of Marie's inheritance. Neither was there a Julia to 


SEPARATION 


253 

ring up and invite to tea at one of the numberless cosy 
teashops of the West End. Marie turned in, at three 
o'clock, to a matinee and bought an upper circle seat, a 
few minutes late for the rise of the curtain on the first 
act of an ultra-modern play. 

The play was all about marriage. It dissected 
marriage into a thousand pieces, and held every piece 
which was not turned into tragedy up to ridicule. It 
fostered all the nonsense which fretted in idle women's 
hearts, and touched many sore spots in others ; and 
made men smile cynically as if saying, That's got it 
to the life." This play kept Marie Kerr enchained; it 
set her wondering why the Marriage Service had ever 
been written and consecrated; it blew to and fro the 
winds of the storm in her soul until a tempest rocked 
her mind ; she drew a black comparison between the 
tragedy of the hero and heroine, and the situation 
between Osborn and herself. But at last, when the 
playwright had ridiculed and denounced what he called 
the oldest and tiredest convention in the world for long 
enough, the play seemed to turn on a pivot, and the pivot 
was the cradle. The playwright gave the playgoers the 
happy ending for which the world craves and sent them 
home relieved. 

He sent Marie Kerr home relieved, too ; but the day had 
not changed her mind. She was fixed and, she felt, irre- 
vocably. Over her solitary dinner she thought of the play ; 
and she thought of the fight to be fought in her own home, 
and she slept upon it, to awake unmoved in the morn- 
ing. 

She did not want Osborn. 


CHAPTER XXI 


HOME-COMING 

Osborn Kerr was coming home with the happy sense of 
expectancy which is common to the wanderer. He had 
prepared for departure with a high heart and a holiday 
feeling running through everything, like champagne, but 
he packed for his return with a very warm pleasure in 
looking forward to the welcome waiting for him, right 
across all that space, in the flat 'in which he had established 
home. 

Looking back as well as forward, only the pleasant and 
sweet things of his marriage remained impressed on his 
mind. The cosiness of the home and not the worry of 
paying for it instalment by instalment; the good dinners 
Marie cooked, not the grudge of giving out that house- 
keeping allowance which paid for them; the prettiness and 
sunniness of his wife rather than the faded looks and un- 
certain temper of the last few years; the three fine kids 
he'd got, not the nuisance and noise and expense which he 
had so often declared them. 

The rosy cloud of time and distance had rolled between 
Osborn and all that was his at No. 30 Welham Mansions. 
Before his year of adventure was up he found himself think- 
ing of them sentimentally; he found that they were em- 
bedded pretty deep in his heart. They were real; other 
things were 

^54 


HOME-COMING 255 

Looking about for a definition, he stigmatised other 
things : They're trash." 

He added therefore a postscript to his letter to his wife, 
an addition written in a sudden thrust of pathos, a want 
of her almost like the old want: 

I wonder if you’ve missed me, old girl." 

In the trash he felt, though he had not given the 
idea the form of a thought, that Roselle Dates was included. 
She had never bored, being too clever in her stupid, instinc- 
tive way for that ; but sometimes she had . sickened him. 
She had wanted so much. She seemed always wanting 
something. At first her pallid and raven beauty and her 
clever silliness had been sheer stimulation, but when you 
grew used to her. . . . 

She had nothing behind. And she was mean with 
the sex meanness, the cold prudence of the sex-trafficker. 
She would never have given; she would only have sold, 
and that at a price far beyond Osborn Kerr’s pocket- 
book even at its recent splendour. But she did not 
want to sell either ; she wanted to take and take, to 
squeeze and squeeze. Once — that was in San Fran- 
cisco, where she had beaten together a concert party and 
shone as its brightest star — when he had been dis- 
appointed of a big deal and had come to her with the 
story. . . . 

She had refused to listen. 

She had said: ''Look here, boy! What do you mean 
by asking me out to lunch and moping? I don’t want to 
hear your troubles. There are plenty of people here who’ll 
amuse me without pulling long faces over dropping a little 
cash." 

She looked at him very coldly. In that moment he had 
suddenly thought of another woman, a young bride, who. 


MARRIED LIFE 


256 

with tears of consternation and sympathy in her eyes, had 
brought out an account-book and pencil and said : ‘‘ Til 

get the gas out of the thirty shillings, too/' 

That was the kind of reception a man expected for his 
troubles. But after Roselle had let him pay for their ex- 
pensive lunch, she had needed other things — perfume and 
candy. And she ‘‘ borrowed " the rent of her rooms from 
him for several weeks. 

She went back to London two months ahead of him, 
having written for and secured a moderately good 
engagement. 

During the two months he missed her a little in the 
Runaway, where her presence had secured for him an 
extra mark of distinction; but he had rather the feeling 
of a man surfeited. He put it to himself in modern 
slang : ‘‘ I was fed up," he said. She only wanted me 

to get the tickets and look after her luggage, and turn 
up when I was wanted, and be a kind of unpaid 
courier, while she travelled about getting experiences 
and hunting for bigger fools than me. Lm about fed 
up." 

Osborn was to stop in Paris for a week on his way 
back ; it was a week to which he had looked forward through- 
out the year. Paris aii|i expenses practically unlimited! 
How gay it sounded! What visions it conjured up! But 
the week was a failure as far as pleasure went, though 
business was brisk. For Osborn over all the pleasures 
of Paris there was a frost. It was restless and light and 
bright, and all this living in hotels and cafes wasn't worth 
while. He wanted at last, very badly, to be at home 
again. 

He half thought of wiring to Marie to join him. How 
surprised and delighted and excited she'd be! But how 


HOME-COMING 


257 

would she arrange about the kids? She couldn't come, 
of course. 

Besides, there was an inimitable pleasure in picturing 
oneself entering the flat and finding her there just the same 
as ever. 

Home was essentially the place to look for one’s 
wife. 

Osborn did not know Paris with any intimacy. A 
week-end had been his limit hitherto. So he went to 
the Bon Marche to look for a gift for Marie, not know- 
ing where else to look, and he bought her any trifle 
that he could imagine — Roselle’s teaching was useful 
here, — little chiffon collars, and a glittering hair-band 
ornament that he thought looked very French, and 
handkerchiefs, and a pair of silk stockings, and garters 
with great big fluffy pompoms on them. She had had 
to be rather a mouse during her married life, after the 
trousseau was worn out and since her children came, 
anyway. How pleased she would be to have these pretty 
things ! 

The evening he arrived, after dinner, they would sit 
down by the fire and he would tell her all his business 
news — how well he’d done; all about his hopes and pros- 
pects, and he would give her some of his firm’s letters to 
him to read. He would be sure of her sympathy and appre- 
ciation. 

He had made more than a thousand pounds in commis- 
sions that year, and it was waiting for him, in a lump. He 
drew a long breath at the thought of it. 

A thousand pounds ! And there would be more to follow, 
for poor Woodall had died, and he was holding down the 
job. 

He crossed to Dover on a still, cold day ; it was 


MARRIED LIFE 


258 

an excellent crossing for the time of year. He stood 
on deck, smoking, watching the white cliffs approach, 
looking back over the last year and forward to those 
that lay before him. The last year — how mad and 
jolly it had been for the greater part! It had been 
a great piece of folly and a great piece of fun, travelling 
about with a lovely woman like Roselle Dates; it was 
a situation which half the men he knew would have 
envied him. Coming as it did after a humdrum period 
of domesticity, where a man could not afford either 
folly or fun, the danger signals had been flying all the 
time. 

He could recall fifty occasions on which he could, or 
would, gladly have lost his head; but now, retrospecting, 
he was inclined to give himself the credit rather than 
Roselle, that their relations had been so innocuous. And 
at the moment, although every second the boat brought 
him nearer to her, he felt strangely indifferent as to whether 
they met again or not. He supposed that he might, perhaps, 
go to see her in this new play, and perhaps take her out 
to supper. 

At four o’clock in the afternoon he was home. 

He ran up the grey stone stairs like a boy and 
attained that dear old door, the portal of home. Having 
mislaid his latchkey, he had listened eagerly, an- 
ticipating the sound of Marie’s feet flying down the 
hall. Feet came with a sort of drilled haste, but no 
eagerness. 

A smart maid-servant of superior type opened his door 
to him. 

He stepped past her, staring somewhat, and the hall porter 
followed into the hall with the luggage. The sitting-room 
door opened and Marie came out. 


HOME-COMING 259 

As she came towards her husband she motioned the 
hall porter to put the bags in the dressing-room. There 
was about her an assurance and authority, very quiet, but 
undeniable. 

Here you are, Osborn,’’ she said. 

Hallo, dear ! ” he answered, rather stammeringly. 
‘‘ How are you? How are the ” 

The maid took from him the overcoat which he was 
shedding, and his wife retreated into the sitting-room, he 
following. 

When the door was shut, she turned, lifted her face, and 
murmured: How are you, Osborn? ” 

He kissed her and, loth to relinquish her, kept his arm 
about her waist ; she was unresponsive, but he did not notice 
that ; they went together to the chesterfield drawn up before 
the fire and sat down. She took a corner, turning her- 
self to face him a little, so that he had to withdraw his 
arm from her, and she pushed a billowing cushion which 
he did not remember into a comfortable position for her 
back. 

She spoke very kindly and sympathetically, but it was 
with the kindness and sympathy which someone who was 
a stranger might show. How well you look ! I’m long- 
ing to hear all about your doings ; your letters did not say 
very much. I should have met you at Victoria, only there’s 
always a crush, and it’s easy to miss people, so I thought 
I’d stay here.” 

I didn’t suppose you could leave the children to meet 
me.” 

Oh, I can leave them quite well with Ann.” 

One of those silences which fall between people who 
have been estranged fell between them, during which he 
looked from her to the room, and all about him, and back 


26 o married life 

to her, while she regarded him with that disinterested 
kindness. 

How nice everything looks ! ’’ he said, breaking the 
silence in a voice which sounded crude to himself. What 
a lot of flowers you have, and all these cushions! I don't 
remember things, as a woman would do, but surely there’s 
something new.” 

Only the cushions. I stuffed a lot with one of 
mother’s feather beds. She left me everything, you 
know.” 

Yes. You didn’t say much about it.” 

‘‘No. The flowers are nice, aren’t they? I love 
flowers.” 

“ So you do,” he exclaimed suddenly. “ I wish I’d 
brought you some ; there are such lovely ones at 
Victoria.” 

His wife smiled. 

“ But IVe brought you something I hope you’ll like as 
well.” 

“ Have you, you dear kind person?” 

He took her hand and drew nearer. “ Marie, darling, 
it’s awf’ly good to see you again. This last week in Paris 
seemed such waste of time, with you so near.” 

She looked at him with her eyes widening, a trick he 
found vivid in his memory. A little more colour rose into 
her cheeks. 

“Don’t you want to see the children?” she asked, “or 
do you want tea first? ” 

“ I have an idea I want you. But — where are they? ” 

“ In the dining-room. George will be back from school 
directly.” 

“ School? ” 

“ Yes, school.” 


HOME-COMING 


261 

"‘Things have been happening!’’ he exclaimed, getting 
up. He pulled caressingly at the hand he held. “ You’re 
coming, too ? ” 

“ Go in and see them by yourself. See if they remember 
you. Dispense with my introductions.” 

She laughed, pulling her hand from his, and he 
moved away. At the door he looked back, puzzled. 
An element which he was unprepared for, could not 
understand, seemed with them in the room. She leaned 
back among the fat cushions, pretty and leisured as he 
had been used to seeing her before their marriage, only 
now she had something else about her which he could 
not define. She was not looking at him, but down at 
her hands lying in her lap, and the curling sweep of 
her eyelashes, the bend of her head, the white nape of 
her neck, the colour and contour of her cheek — all these 
he found newly adorable. He almost came back, with a 
rush of tenderness, longing for a real embrace, but 
something, that element which he only sensed, restrained 
him. 

He went into the dining-room, where a four-year-old girl 
nursed a doll and played with a robust baby by turns. They 
were merry, healthy children, and their chubby prettiness 
swelled his heart with pride. These were his; he had 
fathered them. And just through that partitioning wall 
was a woman who was all his, too; one of the prettiest 
of women, and his wife. 

“ Hallo, kids 1 ” he smiled at them from the door-way, 
“ here’s Daddy come back. Come and see if you remember 
him. What a great girl Minna’s grown, and is that the 
baby Dadda left behind him ? ” 

He picked up the baby and danced and dandled her, but 
the four-year-old Minna came more sagely, more slowly; 


262 


MARRIED LIFE 


she had to be won over by bribe and strategy, and her 
aloofness made him a trifle sore. In a moment or two 
he heard the maid go down the corridor and let in a boister- 
ous boy, who ran into the dining-room swinging a satchel 
of books and pulled up short at seeing the stranger among 
them. 

But his memory, older and longer than Minna’s, served 
him. 

Daddy!” said George, shy and very nervous. 

Osborn wondered why this boy was nervous of him. 
Forgetting his previous sharpness and irritation with 
the children, he now suddenly wanted George’s confi- 
dence. 

''Daddy’s back!” he said, "with lots of stories to tell 
you about great big ships and trains and wonderful birds 
which you never saw.” 

" How splendid! ” said the boy, still very shy. He had 
a guilty feeling about his boisterous entry. 

" I was afraid you would be cross with me for making a 
noise when I came in,” he explained. 

" Like you used to be,” Minna added. 

" I’m not cross, old son,” Osborn said slowly. 

" We’re going to have tea now. Daddy,” Minna con- 
tinued, as the maid entered with a cloth and a tray. 

Osborn stayed talking to the children while the tea 
things were set upon the table. He supposed that they 
would all have tea together in the way which he had 
once so heartily deplored, and which at this moment 
seemed so dear and homely, until he saw the maid stand- 
ing respectfully behind her chair waiting for his depar- 
ture. 

He spoke genially, but ill at ease. 

"You give them their tea, do you?” 


HOME-COMING 263 

Yes, sir,’' she answered, '' and I have taken tea into the 
sitting-room.” 

The baby was now sitting in a high chair, bland and fat 
and greedy, a bib about her neck. George and Minna, 
after a propitiatory smile at him, had climbed into their 
places. 

You don’t mind if we begin. Daddy, do you? ” George 
asked. 

'' Go on, old son,” said Osborn hastily. 

There was no more use there for the father who had 
been cross, so he returned to his wife. 

She was still sitting in the corner of the chesterfield, 
but she had picked up some knitting, with which her 
hands were busy. As he entered she looked up and gave 
him a contemplative regard such as he had given her 
as he went out, only that it was colder, more de- 
tached. She saw him big and splendid, handsome and 
virile, and the eagerness in his eyes fell into her heart 
like a cold weight. Her hands became cold and 
trembled. 

She did not want him. 

Beside her the tea table was drawn up. Its equipment 
seemed to him very dainty. It was a picture he liked, 
this pretty woman by the fire, with the environment suited 
to her charms. 

Through the wall came faintly the jolly sound of their 
children’s voices. 

He hurried forward, sat down close to her, and laid a 
hand over hers which held the knitting. 

"'What’s that?” he asked. 

"George’s winter stockings; they’re to have turn-down 
tops like grown-up ones.” 

He took the knitting and pretended to examine the 


264 MARRIED LIFE 

pattern, though he was not thinking of anything save 
her. 

The year’s parting had been a miracle. Love had slyly 
redecorated his house throughout. 

Jolly nice,” he commented on the stockings, ‘‘ but, 
please, give me my tea now.” 

He smiled at her a lazy, autocratic smile. All this flat 
and the people in it were his, and he would not have changed 
it for a throne. He thought again, though in a more ma- 
ture fashion, much as he used to do in the first married 
year, how good it was to come in and shut your own door 
upon a snubbed world. 

She answered the smile by one faint and chilly and re- 
poseful. Leaning forward she began to busy herself with 
the tea things. The sugar tongs poised : Let’s see,” she 
cogitated, ‘‘ it was two lumps, wasn’t it? ” 

He assented, surprised. Time I came home,” he said, 
affecting to grumble lightly. 

What do you think of the children?” she asked. ‘‘I 
suppose you find them grown? Did they remember 
you?” 

Yes, of course. I should think they did ! ” 

Muffin, Osborn?” 

‘‘ Thank you, darling. I say,” he smiled with gratifica- 
tion, you look as though you’d all done yourselves pretty 
well while I’ve been away. This is cosy.” 

He indicated the tea table. 

‘‘Of course, after mother’s death ” 

“ I was awf’ly sorry, Marie. I’m afraid I wrote 
rather a brief letter about it; life was rather a rush, you 
know.” 

“ It didn’t matter. I was going to say, that after 
her death, I found myself quite well off, comparatively.” 


HOME-COMING 


265 


You didn’t tell me much.” 

No. Well, you didn’t ask much. Surely, I answered 
all your questions?” 

He remembered uncomfortably the many months of his 
abstraction with Roselle; she had occupied his thoughts 
for a while almost to the exclusion of everything 
else. 

I expect you did, dearest.” 

However, I’m going into accounts with you presently, 
and then you’ll know everything.” 

Overspent yourself? ” he smiled complacently, with the 
knowledge of that thousand pounds backing him. ‘‘ Want 
money to go on with ? ” 

She shook her head. 

I don’t want anything, thanks.” 

The thought was to her like a bulwark ; it was a thought 
which thousands of wives would have loved to possess. 
It somehow completed her sense of detachment from him. 
She puzzled him. 

How long have you had a maid? ” he asked. I must 
say I was awf’ly surprised when what’s — her — name — 
Ann — opened the door to me.” 

Let’s see,” she considered, wrinkling her brows, I’ve 
had her for six months. Before that I had a woman in 
to do the rough work.” 

Well, if you could manage it ” 

I managed it, and kept quite within our income, thank 
you, Osborn.” 

I must say it’s very jolly to have you all to myself like 
this. We always used to talk of what we’d do when my 
ship came home, and now here she is ! ” 

“ Poor Osborn! You must be glad.” 

‘‘ Aren’t youf ” 


266 


MARRIED LIFE 


Of course I am.’’ 

'' We'll have a bigger flat; it's rather a crowd here, isn't 
it?" 

^‘Yes, I'd like another room." 

‘‘ You shall have what you like, darling." 

He put an arm round her shoulders, drawing her 
face to his. ‘‘ You know I'd like to give you the 
world!" 

She was silent. 

He kissed her cheek, holding her against him. I must 
show you what I've brought as soon as I unpack. I got 
you some things in the Bon Marche — I think you'll like 
them." 

'' I'm sure to." 

Tell me what you've been doing. I want to hear all 
about you," he said persistently. 

There's very little to tell. I've been able to go out 
a great deal more lately; and I've been resting and read- 
ing while I had the opportunity. I took the children to 
the sea in the summer. Ann went with us, so I was 
very free and had long walks and swims. It was de- 
lightful." 

“ And you've missed me? " he asked quickly. I don't 
hear anything about that." 

We have all missed you." 

Her assurance left him vaguely unsatisfied. She drew 
away from him with a sidelong glance, half sad, half 
ribald, as if she knew and was regretfully amused at what 
he was thinking. She leaned over the table, cake knife 
in hand. 

Have some of this iced cake, Osborn? Bought 
specially for you." 

For a while that pleased and appeased him. He asked 


HOME-COMING 267 

more casually for news, and she told him of Rokeby’s and 
Julia’s surprise wedding. 

He sat back, astonished, exclaiming: 

Good heavens ! How unsuitably people marry ! ” 

They do, don’t they ? ” 

The noise in the next room had subsided; and presently 
the handle of the sitting-room door turned quietly, and 
three inquiring faces looked in, Minna holding the baby 
steady. 

Over Marie’s face there came a change. From its half- 
cold inconsequence and restraint, it warmed and lighted, 
as her hands went out eagerly. 

Come along, chicks,” she said ; and then, turning 
to her husband, she added quickly: '' li you don’t 
mind? I always read to them before bedtime. Do you 
mind?” 

Why should I, darling ? ” he said, surprised. 

The three children, encouraged, came forward. George 
had the chosen book under his arm and, opening it at a 
favourite story, he laid it on his mother’s knee. Nursing 
the baby and with Minna snuggled into her other arm, she 
prepared to read. 

‘‘ Come and sit on my knee, old chap,” Osborn whispered 
to George. 

The child came dutifully, but his attention was for 
his mother. She began to read in her light, clear voice, 
and for some while that was the only sound in the 
room; the man and the three children listened, as if en- 
tranced. During the progress of the reading Ann 
came in without interrupting and took the baby away to 
bed. 

A quarter of an hour later it was Minna’s turn, and 
only George remained; he was eager to tell his mother 


268 


MARRIED LIFE 


of the day's experiences at school; clambering down from 
his father's lap he went to her, and, with an arm flung 
about her neck, began an involved account. 

She listened with interest and comprehension. And 
Osborn looked at George's rapt face and her loving one, 
and drew a sharp comparison between what mattered and 
trash. 

At last George went, and the husband and wife were 
alone again. 

He started to the door on a sudden impulse. 

I'll unpack and get those things," he said over his 
shoulder. 

‘'Yes, do," she nodded, “before George goes to sleep. 
Your things are in the dressing-room, and he will be 
there." 

“ We've simply got to have another flat," he replied, 
with a pleasant sensation of the power to pay for it. 

For a few minutes Marie Kerr sat quiet, staring at 
the fire. The home-coming, so stimulating to Osborn, had 
for her been inexpressibly stale. She was not thrilled; 
she was left cold as the November night outside. The 
new and pretty habits of her life were in peril of being 
broken, and her reluctance that it should be so was keen. 
She got up and mended the fire and patted the cushions 
absently. She could hear Osborn talking to his son, and 
Ann busy in the kitchen. 

A man in the house was once more going to set the 
clock of life. 

Before Osborn had found what he sought she went to 
her bedroom. The baby and Minna were sleeping side 
by side in their cots, a screen drawn round them to 
shade them from the light. Deep in the perfect slum- 
ber of childhood, they did not awake at her careful en- 


HOME-COMING 


269 

try. She switched up the electric light over her 
dressing-table, and began to change her blouse and 
skirt for the black frock in which she dined While 
she was standing thus, half dressed, Osborn came 
in. 

She swung round upon him, hands raised in the act 
of smoothing her hair, and there was something in her 
face which made him halt. He looked at her uncer- 
tainly. 

She could not have helped saying if she would : 

You startled me. I didn’t hear you knock.” 

He had not knocked. The puzzle in his head increased. 
Why should he knock? His mouth opened and shut again. 
He came forward hesitatingly. 

‘‘I — I — what do you mean, darling? ” he began. I 
wanted to bring you these.” 

His coming thus was to her symbolic of legal intrusion 
upon all her future privacy. In that year, privacy had 
been one of the things she enjoyed most, after the edge 
was off the first loneliness. She found it hard to re- 
linquish her right to it. She stepped into the frock 
quickly, and drew it upwards before he reached her. 
His hands were full of little things, which he cast in a 
hurry upon the dressing-table. She knew that he wanted 
to touch, to fondle her. She slipped her arms swiftly 
into the sleeves and fastened the first hook across 
her breast; in her eyes a shrinking antagonism unveiled 
itself. 

She uttered hurriedly: “We have to be very quiet; the 
children are asleep.” 

He cast a cursory glance towards the screened cor- 
ner. 

“ They’re all right ; they can’t see or hear or any- 


MARRIED LIFE 


270 

thing else. Come here and let me put this hair-band thing 
on.’’ 

She stood a dressing-table length away, fumbling with 
the hooks, her eyes fixed on him. 

I have lots of things to say to you,” she began sud- 
denly. 

Say them to-morrow,” he replied in his old 
way. 

‘‘No,” she said, “they have to be said to-night — not 
this minute, perhaps, but presently.” 

She was in Osborn’s arms again, and he was touch- 
ing her throat, her hair, and the velvet texture of her 
cheek. 

“You’ve got fatter again,” he was saying delightedly; 
“ you look just like the little girl I married, only there’s 
something bigger about you; firmer. There’s no doubt 
marriage stiffens a woman up. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re 
sure of yourself.” 

She gazed full into his eyes. “Yes. I’m sure of my- 
self; absolutely sure.” 

“ You always had ripping hair; but I think it’s got thicker, 
hasn’t it? It’s springy, sort of electric.” 

“ It used to be thick ; and then it was thin ; and now it’s 
thick again, I think.” 

“ You do it differently.” 

“ One changes with the styles.” 

“ You would, you up-to-date thing. Now, you’re going 
to look at these souvenirs of Paris, aren’t you?” 

He held her close to his side, while he showed her 
what he had chosen; the pale-pink collars — “You were 
always gone on pink, weren’t you ? ” he asked — the silk 
stockings and the vanity garters. With clumsy fingers he 
tried to adjust the hair-band. 


HOME-COMING 271 

‘‘ Let me do it/’ she protested, if you really want me 
to wear it.” 

‘‘Well, don’t you want to?” he asked, a little hurt. 

“ I’d love to, if I may put it on properly. It’s sweet.” 

“It makes you look awf’ly French!” 

“ Does that improve me ? ” 

“ You don’t want improving.” 

He sat down by the dressing-table, while she stood, 
fixing the glittering circle round her hair with clever fin- 
gers. He kept his hand on her waist and, leaning for- 
ward, looked at her in the glass. She had a lithe natural- 
ness, a slim strength, which newly arrested his admir- 
ation. Struck by the charm of his own wife, he missed 
no detail of her appearance. She had dressed to please 
herself with a true woman’s delight in dessous; and he 
was quick to notice the mauve gleam of ribbon shoulder 
straps under the filmy black of her bodice, which gave 
the sombre gown a charming colour-note ; her sleeves, 
transparent, long, and braceleted round the wrists with 
black velvet bands, showed the whole length of her white 
arms; in her ears amethyst earrings repeated the note 
of the mauve ribbons. Her stockings were silk and her 
slippers of velvet. 

She was as amazing to him as a beautiful stranger. 

“ It doesn’t go with my earrings,” she said carelessly 
when she had fixed the band, “ but it’s so pretty, and thank 
you ever so much.” 

She turned and showed him; and she showed him, too, 
the interest she took in herself, which had caused her to 
pull out those waves of fluffy hair over the tops of her 
ears, from under the hair-band, and the curls she had 
pulled from beneath to dance on her forehead. 

“ Give me a kiss for it,” he said, drawing her down. 


MARRIED LIFE 


272 

She kissed him lightly. 

‘‘ Fancy you the mother of a family! ’’ he remarked, with 
a look at the screened corner. 

She smiled to herself, and began fingering the other 
things. How nice they are 1 And silk stockings 1 
They’re always welcome.” 

But you’re wearing them already,” he said, with rather 
a disappointed glance at her ankles. 

'' That doesn’t matter. If there’s one thing you can’t 
glut a woman with, it’s silk stockings.” 

'‘Thanks, Mrs. Kerr! I’ll remember that when I come 
home in the small hours and have to provide a peace of- 
fering.” 

" Come home any time you like,” she said good- 
humouredly, " there will always be peace as far as I am 
concerned.” 

When he had entered the room, he had missed some- 
thing in it; and now it occurred to him what it was. 

"Where’s my bed?” he demanded. 

" In the dressing-room. I had it moved there, when you 
went; I thought I might as well give myself more 
space.” 

"Of course! I noticed something unusual about the 
dressing-room. You waited for me to move it back here, 
I suppose? It’s rather a tough job for women.” 

" The hall-porter would have done it, you know.” 

" Never mind, pet. I’ll do it ever so quietly after din- 
ner.” 

She did not reply. 

"Are you ready?” he asked. "Come back to the fire, 
and sit down. There’s so much to tell each other about, 
isn’t there? ” 

She moved to the door acquiescently and switched out 


HOME-COMING 


273 

the* light, he following. A savoury smell crept through 
the chinks of the kitchen door, with the all-pervasiveness 
of cookery in flats. He sniffed it. 

How familiar ! But you don’t do the cooking 
now? ” 

‘‘ No ; I only help, sometimes. Ann’s a treasure.” 

What do we pay her? ” 

Thirty pounds a year.” 

Whew!” 

She cast a sidelong glance at him. A domestic drudge 
is worth it, I assure you; women have been consistently 
underrated.” 

“ But fool work like cleaning saucepans and helping 
with the kids ” 

"" Shutting oneself up with the sink; working early; work- 
ing late; breathing ashes and dust and grease; keeping 
tolerably civil and cheerful over it . . . that’s the job we’re 
speaking of. I ought to know all about it,” she said in a 
low voice, as if to herself. 

She sat in her corner of the chesterfield and took up 
her knitting. He sat down, too, by her, all at once alert, 
surveying the flying movements of her dear hands ; 
hands as tender and white as ever he remembered 
them. 

Oh come ! ” he said in affectionate but uneasy re- 
monstrance, “ you don’t look much as if you’d been shut 
up with the sink, working early and working late.” 

‘^You forget I’ve had a whole year’s holiday.” She 
kept her eyes on her work, as if re-casting that first year 
upon her busy needles. At least,” she reflected, almost 
as if to herself, ‘‘part of the time was only half-holiday; 
but the last six months have been wonderful.” 

Jealousy rose in Osborn; jealousy of he knew not 


MARRIED LIFE 


274 

what. Something or someone had brought colour and 
smiles to her, and it was not himself. As he began to 
suggest that fact to himself, before he could do more 

than begin: '' How, do you mean ?’' the door opened, 

and the maid announced : Dinner is served, ma'am.’’ 
Marie sprang up and put her hand kindly in his arm. 
‘‘ Come along,” she said. We have all your favourite 
things, so I hope you’re hungry.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


PLAIN DEALING 

Re-entering the dining-room Osborn was struck by its 
comfort and charm. It was a room humanised by the 
hand of a kind and clever woman. And how well-or- 
dered his table was! How nice his silver looked! How 
well his wife looked! What good cooking he could com- 
mand! And in what attractively comfortable circum- 
stances he now found himself after that year which had 
ended by palling; that year in which he had done as other 
men — free men! 

There was no place like home, for permanence ; no 
•woman like the wife of one’s choice, for permanence. 
These were the things which mattered. 

He was moved to speak to her in some measure of this 
thought during dinner. They were not separated from one 
another by the whole breadth of the table. He sat on 
his wife’s right hand, and the maid served them from 
the sideboard, an arrangement which pleased him because 
it saved him the trouble of carving, and also because it 
was rather smart, he thought, for home, where things gen- 
erally tended to be dowdy. 

I’ve had an awf’ly good time, this last year,” he con- 
fided, but I’m glad to be back. There's nothing like 
one’s own home and one’s own girl.” The maid hav- 
ing gone to the kitchen, he reached for and squeezed 

275 


MARRIED LIFE 


276 

his wife’s hand. I’m going to be an awf’Iy good boy 
now you’ve got me again,” he assured her. 

‘‘ Don’t bore yourself,” she said with gentle polite- 
ness. 

What — what queer things women say ! ” he observed, 
after a pause, in which he had regarded her with some 
surprise. 

Not so queer as the things men do,” she replied thought- 
fully. 

He started and felt a flush creeping from his collar to 
the roots of his hair. She spoke almost as if she knew 
of the folly and fun — but even as the idea came to him 
he knew it to be impossible. It was just one of the half- 
bitter remarks which wives made. Bitterness in a woman 
was horrible. The flush on his face had been imperceptible 
to her in the roseate light of the pink candle-shades, he was 
glad to think; but he waited until it had subsided before 
he spoke with a hint of reproof. 

I say, don’t try sarcasm. Sarcasm in a woman jars, 
somehow.” 

'' I wasn’t sarcastic, really.” Her tone was of rail- 
lery and somehow he didn’t like that she should speak so 
lightly. 

Besides,” he said, with an inconsequent effort, as to 
the queer things men do, men are natural animals all the 
world over.” 

''And you don’t suppose we forget it?” 

She had a pretty laugh; but what made for laughter in 
her question? 

" Men are men,” he stated, rather at a loss, " and women 
are women.” 

She laughed more. 

" Ifs been said before,” she replied. 


PLAIN DEALING 277 

Osborn was relieved to find the maid at his elbow with 
a sweet. 

Alexandra cream, sir?'’ she was asking confi- 
dentially. 

''I hope you'll like this, Osborn," said Marie; I pre- 
pared it myself this morning." 

When the maid had gone, he switched off to a less 
troublous track. 

“ My socks are all in a shocking condition ; I don't know 
how long it'll take to mend 'em, dear." 

I'll spend to-morrow looking over your things. I 
daresay you want repairs throughout." 

You're a darling. I believe I've wanted you to look 
after me. But don't stew in over my mending all day. 
Run into town and lunch with me." 

‘‘ I'll be delighted, Osborn." 

'‘We must have a beano one evening, quite soon. You'd 
like it?" 

“ I'd love it." 

He smiled affectionately, pressing her hand. It was 
nice to give a woman such pleasure. 

After dinner they were to make their own coffee in 
their old way, in the sitting-room; and after Marie had 
made it and brought his cup to him, Osborn leaned back 
in his corner of the couch to smoke and dream and talk 
happily, as a well-fed man does. His gaze, wandering 
round the room, found the piano, which he recognised with 
respect. 

“ I say, you said the cushions were the only different 
things. There's that ! " He nodded towards the in- 
strument. 

“ Yes," she said, her eyes following his, “ there's 
mother's piano. I must tell you all about her will, 


2/8 MARRIED LIFE 

Osbom ; about everything. She left all she had to 
me. 

“The furniture and money?” 

“Yes. I sold most of the fumimre; ilr. Rokeby 
helped me to arrange it and saw the dealers for me.” 

“ Good old Desmond ! I must thank him for that.” 

“ He’s been extremely kind.” She looked into the 
fire. “ Extremely she repeated. “ He advised me and 
told me exactly what to do.” 

“ Did the furniture make much ? ” Osbom asked with 
masculine interest in things financial. 

“ A hundred and fifty pwDunds, odd.” 

“ Good ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ I paid off all the rest of our own furniture instalments 
with it.” 

“ Oh, splendid ! ” he exclaimed in appro\^l. 

“ I hoped you’d think so. A hundred cleared it, as you 
would know\” 

“ So little Marie had fifty pounds odd for her own bank- 
ing account ! ” 

“ Not at all,” she said, smiling into the fire as if she 
saw a very pleasant vision there ; “ I spent it.” 

Osbom took his pipe from his mouth and sat forward. 
“Whatever on?” he ejaculated. 

His motion was surprise rather than disapproval. The 
money was hers, of course. But that a woman should have 
the temerity to spend fifty’ pounds odd in a few months 
when she was already supplied with enough to ensure com- 
fort for herself and her family. . . . 

She lifted her head and looked at him. She dared him. 
The curls on her forehead danced and the ameth\’5t ear- 
drops twinkled; the shmg of her shoulders brought the 
mauve ribbons again imder his notice. 


PLAIN DEALING 


279 

‘"As I told you, I’m going into accounts with you this 
evening.” 

“ Oh, well . . . it’s your own affair.” 

“ But husbands like to make wives’ affairs their own, 
don’t they ? ” 

She rose to find her accoimt-books in a pigeon-hole 
of the bureau. Her colour had faded; her eyes were 
bright. Like all women she feared the hour of battle, 
while she did not flinch from it. So pretty she looked, 
standing there, that Osborn sprang up after her. He 
was just man — not husband, not master, nor judge, nor 
timekeeper of the home; but man, admiring and 
passionate. 

“ I say, hang the accounts ! Come to me ! ” 

There was again that about her which checked him. 
It was an almost virginal aloofness, though he would not 
have known how so to define it. When she sat down 
once more by his side he reached for his pipe again 
calmly and put it between his teeth, clenching them hard 
on the stem. 

“Well, pretty cat?” he asked in a strained voice. 

The old love-name fell upon cold ears. Opening the 
first book, she mused busily: 

“This is the housekeeping; the other’s odd expenses. 
But I’d better finish telling you about mother’s will first. 
She left me tw^o hundred and twenty poimds a 
year.” 

This time he made no sign at the news, except by rais- 
ing his eyebrows and directing tow^ards her a steady look 
of interest and inquir}'. 

“ So,” she continued, “ w^e have been quite well off. 
Directly you left I reckoned up our expenses and found 
w’e were better off than before, on tv^o himdred a year. 


28 o 


MARRIED LIFE 


and I got a charwoman. I told you the first part of the 
year was like a half-holiday. After my dear mother died 
and I had the money, I engaged Ann.’’ 

'' Quite right,” he said rather gruffly. 

I am like you, Osborn, I have had a great year. If 
it hadn’t meant losing mother it would have been a per- 
fect year.” 

After a long pause, he dropped out, incredu- 
lously : 

‘‘Without me?” 

She felt her hands grow suddenly cold with fear of 
the battle. 

“ Yes,” she nodded, “ without you.” 

As he looked at her she was again as dazzling to him 
as a beautiful stranger; and as strange. 

He said somewhat stiffly : “ That’s not exactly what a 
man expects to hear when he comes back after a long 
time.” 

“ I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve changed somehow. What’s the matter?” 

“I’ve grown young again. That’s all, isn’t it?” 

“ I don’t know if that’s all.” 

“Let’s talk of something else,” she said gaily; “tell 
me more about yourself. I’ve had no details yet, and 
I’m longing for them. You’re keeping the job, are 
you? And just what good things does keeping it 
mean? ” 

“ A fur coat for Marie,” he said with a hint of re- 
proachful pathos. 

“ How lovely ! But what will it mean to you was what 
I’m asking?” 

“ The salary is five hundred, as you know.” And 
guardedly, for he knew many men who deemed it well 


PLAIN DEALING 


281 

to be careful over telling their wives these things, he 
added : With any luck the commission’s more than the 
salary.” 

He left it vague, like that, for safety. 

I do congratulate you, Osborn.” 

Our ship’s really in, at last, you see, old girl.” 

“ My poor income fades into the background behind 
yours ! ” 

Well, yours isn’t so bad for a woman! ” 

So I’ve found. I’ve had clothes, and gone about, and 
begun to think and read and see good plays again, all on 
the strength of it.” 

She opened a bank-book. This is all the accounting for 
the two hundred you arranged to be paid in to me. You’ll 
see I’ve used it legitimately — none of it’s gone on frippery. 
And I’ve paid George’s schooling myself this last six 
months, and Ann’s wages, as I hadn’t your permission for 
either. So you’ll see there’s even a balance left to your 
credit.” 

"‘Why make a song about my "permission’? You’ve 
always been a free agent, haven’t you?” 

"" Won’t you just run your eye over this, now you’re 
taking hold of the family bank account again?” 

To satisfy her he took the book and skimmed over fig- 
ures rapidly. 

"" You’ve been a good girl.” 

"" So glad you think so.” 

Osborn smoked on quietly, but his thoughts were 
turbulent. She was giving him strange qualms, and he 
could not quite understand her direction. That something 
worked in her head he guessed, but, unwilling to hear 
of it, he asked no questions. It was very comfortable 
by the fire, and when he pitched the account-books 


282 MARRIED LIFE 

away from her and took her hand again, she let it lie 
in his. 

He pressed it. 

‘‘Well?^’ he whispered with a meaning look, wanting 
response. 

It seemed as if she had none to give, kind and sweet as 
she was to him. 

Fm forgetting,” he said in a few minutes, leaning 
forward to knock out his pipe, that Tve a job to do for 
you. ril see to that bedstead now, shall I?” 

Why ? ” she said coldly. It is all ready made up 
for you in the dressing-room. What do you want to 
do?” 

He stared, bewildered. 

Fm not going to sleep there.” 

^"Aren't you? Then I will.” 

He began to see dimly the meaning of her mood; but 
he was stumbling about in darkness to find her reasons 
for it. What reasons could she have for so extraordinary 
a reply? 

My dear good girl,” he cried sharply, “ explain your- 
self.” 

‘‘ I don’t know how to, exactly. But I have liked hav- 
ing my room to myself. I wish to keep it.” 

^'You’ve got some nonsense into your head ” 

It isn’t nonsense. It’s just fact. I’ve been without a 
husband for a year and I’ve found it wonderfully restful. 

I can be without him some more.” 

‘‘ Have you any idea of th^ rubbish you’re talking? ” 

She looked at him curiously, unaffected by his au- 
thoritative tone, and, seeing her disaffection, he felt un- 
comfortably at a loss, since his authority had failed 
him. He was dumbfounded ; angry and stricken at 


PLAIN DEALING 283 

once ; he had not the least idea now what tone to 
take. 

He dropped suddenly to persuasion. 

Look here, my dear girl, tell me what you’re think- 
ing of. You know I’m only too anxious to respect your 
feelings and wishes ; I don’t think I’ve ever violated 
them to the least extent, have I? If I have, it was un- 
knowingly. You women have such queer moods. What 
is it ? Perhaps you’re unwell and nervy, though you 
look all right. Anyway, come here and tell me all about 
it.” 

To avoid his encircling arm she rose. She laid one 
arm along the mantelpiece, and put one foot on the 
fender as if to be warmed; the attitude struck him as 
exceedingly negligent, and when she began to speak it 
was in no sense as an argument, but as a statement of 
facts long ago cut-and-dried for storage in her 
mind. 

I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. But I don’t want you. 
I couldn’t bear you in my room.” 

She had got it out, and he was saying nothing, only sit- 
ting forward, hands on knees, looking up at her, horror, 
anger and disbelief in his face. 

She went on : It’ll be no good arguing. I’ve suffered 
and suffered, and had it all out with myself, and it’s over. 
But I’ll tell you everything, putting it plainly, because I’d 
like you to understand — if men ever do trouble to un- 
derstand. Look at me ! ” 

‘‘ I’m looking.” 

‘‘Then you see I’ve changed. You thought so when 
you came in. I’m young again; I’ve rested and got my 
complexion back. My hair’s nice; I get time for regular 
shampoos now. I spend a lot of my time on my- 


284 MARRIED LIFE 

self. It’s lovely. And my teeth, have you noticed 
them ? ” 

She set them together and opened her lips to show him 
all the gleamy whiteness between. 

I spent ten pounds on them, having them filled and 
cleaned and polished; I go regularly to the dentist now. 
And my hands, have you noticed them?” 

Osborn met her question by a dead silence. 

They’re as they used to be again. And I’ve done 
it all in this year you’ve been away. And there’s another 
thing — it occurred to me the other day when I was 
wondering what really made all the difference — there’s 
not been a cross word or a grumble in this flat for twelve 
months. That’s happiness. Heavens ! That keeps 
women young! ” 

She stopped and thought, and continued slowly: 

Marriage is funny. It’s a thing men can’t bear un- 
less it’s gilded. And they vent their intolerance. Do 
you know that before you went away — for four years — - 
I scarcely ever expected you to say loving or civil things. 
Before you went out in the mornings you shouted 
for the breakfast, and I was hurrying all I could; and 
you grumbled if the children made a noise. And when 
you came in, if dinner wasn’t ready or right, you 
grumbled at that again. And in the week-ends the kids 
dared hardly play, and I was buffer all the time between 
you and them. It’s just what happens in thousands of 
homes, of course.” 

‘‘ This exaggeration ” 

Ah, it isn’t. It sounds bad, but it isn’t so very. It’s 
rather ordinary. And, Osborn, do you remember when I 
had to ask you for money ? ” 

She looked at him freezingly. Do you think a 


PLAIN DEALING 


285 

woman who’s been begged and cajoled and petted into 
marrying a man enjoys creeping and crawling to him for 
odd shillings for household expenses? Do men think we 
enjoy it or do it wilfully, that they grudge it so? We 
can’t help it.” 

Where’s all this harangue ” 

There’s more to it yet. Do you know when you told 
me you were going away at once for a year, I thought 
I was broken? I loved you so. It seemed awful to see 
the gladness and relief in your face at leaving us, getting 
rid of us for a whole year! I’d been watching you for 
so long, and seeing you change, and get irritated with it 
all, and trying to keep young for you when I was tired 
out. And that night, when I saw how Fd failed, how 
dead your love was ” 

‘‘No; it was never dead, Marie.” 

“Wasn’t it? Was it sleeping, then? Where was it? 
What was it doing?” 

“ You see — ” 

“ Oh, yes, I see. I saw, then, how joyfully you shelved 
us all. You were like a boy let out of school. And I’d 
worked so hard to keep home happy for you, but you 
just thought of it as a place of bills and worry and chil- 
dren, presided over by a perpetual asker. That night be- 
fore you went, do you remember leaving me to mend your 
things ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When you had gone, I cried, and prayed ; it didn’t 
do any good. I didn’t know women could suffer so — even 
when the children were born ” 

Osborn sprang up. “ Don’t,” he said hurriedly, with 
visions of anguish in his mind. 

“ Very well. I don’t want to harrow you. I’m only 


286 


MARRIED LIFE 


just giving the explanation you asked. A year ago you 
left me, glad to go, and I thought my heart would break. 
But it didn’t. And it’s changed. You’ve come back — 
to exact again all the things that husbands do exact. But 
I don’t want you.” 

She had appalled him. 

He stammered hoarsely : “ I don’t understand — I can’t 
see what you want us to do.” 

‘'Well; to live — apart.” 

“ You can’t mean it.” 

“ But I do. How often am I to say, I don’t want 
you? The last part of this year, after the pain was over, 
I’ve been as glad to be without you as during the first part 
of the year you were glad to be without me. Isn’t that 
plain?” 

“ You’re making it horribly plain. And now I’m going 
to ask you, could I help being poor and short of 
cash?” 

She shook her head. “No! But I couldn’t either, and 
you were awfully down on me.” 

“ ‘ Down ’ on you ! I! ” 

“ You grumbled persistently every day. The kiddies 
and I just waited upon your moods. And if I had to 
ask for anything, you weren’t kind about it; you just flung 
out of the place, leaving me all the worries. You never 
helped nor shared. I’ve come to this conclusion lately; 
that it simply isn’t worth while living with a person 
who grumbles persistently and has to be propitiated every 
day.” 

He reflected deeply, his hands in his trousers 
pockets. 

“ I think I’m taking all this sermon peaceably enough,” 
he barked savagely. 


PLAIN DEALING 287 

Again he had that disaffected look from her; she seemed 
to analyse him coldly. 

It isn't a sermon. Go on grumbling and nagging and 
grudging every day, if you want to. I haven't asked you 
to refrain. I've merely explained that, as a result of 
your husbandly behaviour, you've ceased to attract 
me, and I don't want to live with you — intimately — 
again." 

He caught her arm. Look here! I know. You've 
been to some of these beastly Suffragette meetings." 

She laughed scornfully. 

‘‘ Suffragette ! Don't be an ass, dear I " 

No," he said under his breath, regarding her, you 
haven't. Hanged if I know what you have been doing." 

I told you. Getting my youth back. Do you know 
what a very pretty young girl feels like? Did you know 
what I used to feel like when you were engaged to me? 
Like a queen with a crowd of courtiers at her orders and 
you the most courtier-like of them all! You used to hang 
on every word I said and promise me heaven and earth, 
and my every look was law. Oh! the power a pretty 
young girl feels in herself ! " 

Standing on tiptoe she looked into the glass, touched 
her fluffs of hair and the purple earrings with tender fin- 
ger-tips. 

‘‘ I've got it back," she said with a thrill. I feel it 
flowing back; the power one has through being pretty 
and magnetic. If a woman's tired out she can't be 
magnetic. But I've got it all again — and more. I won- 
der if a man can ever understand the pleasure of hav- 
ing it? It's coming to me again just as I had it fresh 
and unconquered in those dear old days when you were 
at my feet." 


288 


MARRIED LIFE 


He spoke in a sort of beaten amazement. ‘‘If you want 
me again at your feet ’’ 

“ Thank you, I don't. I'll never pay the price again. 
Never! Never!" 

“ Then whom do you want ? Do you mean there's any- 
one else? By God! if there is " 

As she saw his fury she could laugh. “ There isn't." 

“ Let's sit down again," he said more quietly; “ this isn't 
threshed out yet." 

“If more discussion gives you any pleasure I'll dis- 
cuss. But what I said I meant. I'm not glad to see 
you; I'm sorry. You mean the breaking-up of household 
peace for me again. Men would be surprised if they 
knew how many wives are glad to see their husbands 

“ Take care you don't drive me into going for good. 
Your way of treating a man is pretty dangerous.” 

“ I'm sorry," she replied with a convincing gentleness, 
“ that I shouldn't care if you did go. I'd have the chil- 
dren." 

“ Do you mean they've been more to you than I 
have ? " 

“What haven't they been to me?" Her face was soft. 
“ You can't think — you've never troubled to know — how 
kind children are." 

“Once I was first with you." 

She quoted with irreverent glee : “ ‘ And they that were 
first shall be last.' " 

“You can laugh?" 

“ Thank God I can, at last." 

“ Supposing I did go — right now ? " 

She shrugged her shoulders slightly and the mauve 
shoulder straps ^gain arrested him. She did not speak; 


PLAIN DEALING 


289 

but without her answer, whatever it would have been, he 
knew that he could not leave her ; that he must always come 
back at last, longing for her arms. 

Ten o’clock struck, and she looked up thoughtfully at 
the wedding-gift timepiece. 

Tm going to bed,” she said. Good night.” 

A dark rush of colour flooded his face. ‘"You really 
mean ” 

She nodded. 

“ Then,” he almost whispered, “ exactly how do we 
stand? ” 

“ ril keep house for you very capably and look after 
our children. You can leave me if you like, you know.” 

“God!” he groaned. “What are women made of?” 

“ Ordinary flesh and blood that gets tired and wants 
loving. Have you only just remembered to inquire?” 

He ran after her along the corridor as she went swiftly 
to her room. 

“ Marie ! ” he prayed. “ Relent ! Marie, it’ll be all so 
different now. I’ve all this money; you could have what 
you wanted.” 

“ I know it’ll be different. But, you see, you’ve done 
something to me; you’ve killed all the love I had for you, 
drained it dry somehow. There’s none left. I just — I 
just — don’t want you.” 

She left his hands and gained her door, leaving him 
standing; he could have followed her forcibly, but it 
would have been violation. He felt it and was fright- 
ened. Through his anger there broke this fear, the fear 
of further offending her. When she turned to ask na- 
turally, “You’ll turn out the lights?” he just nodded. 
His mouth was very dry. He wheeled round abruptly, 
returning to the warm room they had just left. 


MARRIED LIFE 


290 

The whole room seemed to bear her impress; the faint- 
est perfume, almost too delicate to be definite scent, hung 
there; on the bureau the little stocking she was knitting 
adhered to the ball of wool, pierced thereto by the long 
needles. It looked homely, but it was not home. Some- 
thing had happened, devastating home. He sat for awhile 
in a sunk posture of dejection, his head in his hands and 
his elbows on his knees. 

She’ll come round,” he assured himself presently. 

Sentences isolated themselves from her burning speech 
and struck in his brain . . . ^Hf I had to ask for any- 
thing, you weren’t kind about it; you just flung out of 
the place, leaving me all the worries. You never helped 
nor shared.” . . . ‘‘ A year ago you left me, glad to go, 
and I thought my heart would break.” . . . ‘‘ But I don’t 
want you.” . . . 

''If she knew,” he thought restlessly, with Roselle in 
his mind, " it’d be different. I’d understand what's 
piqued her. But, as far as she knows, she’s been no worse 
off than other men’s wives.” 

Her joy over her restored teeth and hands surprised 
him; it seemed so freshly childish. "I’ll own it’s hard 
on women,” he thought, "but what could I have done? 
What did she expect me to do ? ” 

He was quivering, soft, vulnerable. 

"Did I really mean — just that — to her and the kids? 
Just somebody coming in to grump and grumble. . . .” . 

The fire died down while he sat there, but what mat- 
ter ? She was not lying awake for him. When the 
desire came to him to make one last appeal, he checked 
it. 

" No,” he told himself cautiously, " give her time — lots 
of it. She’ll come round.” 


PLAIN DEALING 


291 

He began to rake out the ashes suddenly and 
methodically, to switch out the lights. And very 
soberly he went to the room where his small son lay 
asleep. 

His entrance roused George. 

^^Are you going to sleep with me, Daddy?’’ he asked 
nervously. 

""Yes, old son,” Osborn replied as nervously as the 
child had spoken. 

"" I’ll be very quiet in the morning, Daddy,” said 
George. 

"" You needn’t be, old boy,” Osborn replied. 

He sat down on the edge of George’s bed, with a wish 
that someone of all his household, this child at least, should 
be glad to see him. 

"" We’re going to be great pals,” he stated, "" aren’t 
we?” 

"" Yes, Daddy,” the child answered. 

"" Give me a kiss and say good night, then.” 

George obeyed dutifully. Osborn tucked him up and 
turned away. As he undressed he thought of the toys 
he would buy the children to-morrow. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


INDIFFERENCE 

Marie met her husband serenely at the breakfast-table next 
morning. She looked fair and fresh and had other things 
to do than to give him undivided attention. George 
and Minna were at table, behaving charmingly, though 
the baby, being yet at a sloppy stage, was taking her 
breakfast in the kitchen in deference to her father’s re- 
turn. Osborn paid his family some attention and his 
newspaper none; and he appeared to be in no hurry to 
be off. 

My first morning back,” he remarked; I need hardly 
turn up punctually.” 

I suppose,” said Marie, with interest, from behind her 
coffee-pot, that your work will be rather different.” 

It will, rather. I believe I’m to put in some days 
in town, and then run down to our various agents in the 
Midlands. There’s quite a busy programme mapped out, 
I believe.” 

‘‘ You’ll enjoy that.” 

‘‘ Shall you go away again. Daddy? ” asked Minna. 

“ Don’t talk at breakfast, dear,” said her mother. 

Osborn looked across at his wife. 

I shall be off your hands a good deal.” 

Bitterness savoured his voice. She smiled at him 
sympathetically, but he smarted under the knowledge 

293 


INDIFFERENCE 


293 

that her sympathy did not go very deep. Yet he was 
strangely reluctant to hurry away. He remained until 
George had started for school; until Minna had begged 
to be allowed to get down and go to see baby finish her 
breakfast. Then he rose, and went rather heavily 
round the table to his wife, and laid a hand on her 
shoulder. 

‘‘ I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of you and all the 
things you said last night.” 

"" Tm sorry you didn’t sleep. I expect you were rather 
tired with travelling; over-tired, perhaps.” 

‘‘ I was as fresh as paint when I got here yesterday and 
you know I was. You took it out of me.” 

"‘We shan’t be able to argue about this every day; I 
couldn’t stand it, Osborn.” 

“ I’m ready to say that I daresay we men are thought- 
less sort of brutes; but you didn’t marry one of the worst 
by a long chalk, you know.” 

A smile twitched her lips, goading him to despera- 
tion. 

“ No,” she owned. “ There was nothing lurid about you. 
But, heavens ! it was dull ! ” 

He took his hand off her shoulder and went to 
search for matches and pipe on the mantelpiece. He no- 
ticed many little things acutely in his unhappiness; how 
nicely the silver vases were cleaned, and that the pipe- 
rack was kept on the righthand side now instead of the 
left. 

“ You’ll come round.” 

“If you knew how impossible it seems to me you 
wouldn’t say that.” 

“ I suppose I shall be worrying over this buisness all 
day as well as all night ? ” 


MARRIED LIFE 


294 

I hope not. Tm lunching with you, at one, at the 
Royal Red.’^ 

^'What! You^ll come to lunch 
You asked me.’’ 

Pleasure, almost triumph, lit his face. I’ll give you 
a good time. Sure you wouldn’t like some other place 
better than the Royal Red ? ” 

“ I’ve got, somehow, a special ache for it.” 

‘‘ Then you must have what you want, of course. I’ll 
get away punctually, so as not to keep you waiting.” 

Marie accompanied him into the hall to help him on 
with his coat, and to remark that his muffler needed wash- 
ing. But she did not kiss him on parting; before he 
could ask mutely for the salute she was on her way back 
to the breakfast-table. 

She sat there some while after he had gone, comfort- 
ably finishing her own meal, which had been inter- 
rupted by attendance on the children, as if deliberately 
determining that Osborn’s return should interfere in no 
whit with her recent ease. Only when she was quite 
ready, with no hurry and at her own pleasure, did she 
start out to the Heath to give the children their morn- 
ing airing. 

'' Mummie,” said Minna, ‘‘ George said Daddy has prom- 
ised to bring us some toys.” 

‘'That’s very kind of Daddy, isn’t it?” 

She walked thoughtfully. " Things have changed,” 
she said to herself, " I suppose money has changed them. 
It always can.” She thought this with a certain enjoy- 
ment, yet down underneath, where that stony organ 
which used to be her heart lay, she knew that she wanted, 
more than thousands and thousands of pounds, the 
light and life of that first year over again. What joy was 


INDIFFERENCE 295 

like the birth of such love? Or what regret like the death 
of it? 

Their walk on the Heath lasted till eleven o'clock, 
when she returned to put the children under the charge 
of the maid. She was meticulous in her instructions for 
their care and requirements, almost passionate in her lov- 
ing good-byes to them. Truly no one, she thought again, 
as their arms clung about her neck, could know all 
that they had been to her, how heavenly kind they 
were. 

Minna, admiring her mother's clothes, walked with her 
to the door and waved her down the bleak staircase. 

It was precisely one o'clock when Marie Kerr entered 
the lounge of the big restaurant, where she had waited 
some while for Osborn on a birthday evening which she 
remembered keenly this morning. But this time he was 
there before her, waiting anxious and alert, like a lover 
for the lady of his affections. He had booked a table 
and upon it, as she sat down, she saw, laid beside her 
cover, a big bunch of her favourite violets, blue and 
dewy. 

‘‘You still like them best?" he asked. 

“ Still faithful," she smiled back lightly and, when 
she had thrown open her coat, she pinned them at her 
breast. 

She looked around her unafraid. 

Her clothes were good; her hair was burnished; her 
hands were white; her man worshipped like the other 
women's men. 

She was once more, after that long, that humble and tear- 
ful abdication, at the zenith of her power. 


MARRIED LIFE 


296 

They did not rise from their table until nearly three 
o’clock. Twice she had asked: “How about the firm?” 
and twice he had answered irreverently : “ Let them be 
hanged ! ” He looked into her eyes wondering and hop- 
ing, but in their clearness read no promise. He tried to 
lead their talk round to the one subject which pervaded 
and appalled him, but each time that he drove in his wedge 
of reference she shook her head at him, smiled and closed 
her lips, as a woman saying: “You don’t talk me over in 
this world or the next.” 

But when he reminded her “ It was here, to this very 
table, that I took you, on your birthday before last,” she 
joined him in reminiscence. 

“ And I was miserable, envying every woman I saw, 
ashamed of my frock and my hands and my old 
shoes; ashamed of everything. I knew I couldn’t com- 
pete.” 

“You could compete with any woman in the world.” 
He cast a deprecating look around them. 

“ I couldn’t then. There was a woman I specially 
envied, I remember, an actress whose name you knew. 
How long ago it seems.” 

“ Only a year and a half,” he replied quickly, plimging 
into a side issue. 

“You admired her,” she said curiously, “didn’t 
you? ” 

He lied : “ I don’t remember.” 

“ I do,” she said. “ I used to pray about you — that 
vroman was in my mind when I prayed, and asked God 
to make you admire me for the children I’d borne, and not 
to let you see how old and ugly I should grow. Doesn’t 
it seem funny ? ” 

“ It’s not at all funny,” he said, his eyes on the 


INDIFFERENCE 297 

tablecloth. Fm sorry you — if you’d told me — talked 
to me ” 

“ You’d have thought me more of a whining wife than 
ever.” 

'‘Well, it’s over, anyway. Won’t you forget it?” 

“ I’m just delighted to forget it. But there’s a kind of 
joy in remembering all the same, such as a man feels in 
thinking of his starvation early days after he’s made him- 
self rich.” 

“ And now I’m to be starved instead ? ” 

Then she collected her muff and gloves, closed her coat, 
pinning the violets outside, thanked him for a nice 
lunch and left him. He paid the bill in a hurry and 
hastened after her, catching up with her upon the 
kerb. 

“ Well,” he said in her ear, “ I shall keep on asking. 
What do you think ? ” 

She signalled a passing omnibus to stop and boarding 
it left him with a smile and wave of the hand. For a few 
seconds he stood on the kerb, at grips with a feeling of 
humiliation and defeat, then he began to walk back to his 
work. He was not yet accustomed to the setting of this 
new act he was playing with his wife — he thought of it 
thus — though it was making him smart badly. As he 
went forward, threading his way among the hurrying 
after-lunch throngs, he was thinking hard. He attracted 
some attention from women’s eyes as he swung along, 
oblivious, big, straight-shouldered and masculine. All the 
afternoon, while his mind was ostensibly upon his busi- 
ness, he fumed and fretted. 

In taking up his job in London, he found a good deal 
to do and to book that first day. He had to pay rush- 
ing visits to two agents, talk over his tour with the 


MARRIED LIFE 


298 

head of the firm, and drive about the Park, in a Run- 
away, a rich undecided peer who couldn’t make up 
his mind to buy her. But he bought the car de luxe 
before they parted, and his cheque lay in Osborn’s 
pocket. 

Another twenty-pounds commission, and what for? To 
spend on a woman who coolly didn’t want it. Osborn Kerr 
started for home, chafing sorely. 

On his way to the Piccadilly Tube he passed the 
Piccadilly Theatre. Outside the doors hung a big frame 
of photographs of the entire cast of Sautree’s new pro- 
duction, and he paused to look, absent-minded as he was, 
with male interest in that galaxy of charm. In the sec- 
ond row of faces he met Roselle’s. She photographed 
well, her big, smooth shoulders bare, her hair smooth 
and smart, her chin uptilted so that she looked out, 
foreshortened. She smiled inscrutably. He knew the 
smile well, although he had never translated it so far as 
to guess that it covered stupidity in a sphinx’s mask that 
bafhed and piqued. That smile was of sterling value to 
Roselle; it was like so many pounds paid regularly into 
her pocket; it set men wondering what her meaning was 
when all the while she meant nothing. As Osborn Kerr 
paused before the rows of portraits, he wondered, a 
little yet, what Roselle meant when, so inscrutably, she 
smiled. 

She was beautiful, there was no doubt of it. He re- 
membered with some self-gratulation those hours spent 
with her in the blue Runaway with its silver fittings; 
Roselle in her fur coat and the purple velvet hat crushed 
close, in a cheeky fashion, over her night-black hair; 
and people turning to look at them both. He had seen 
in men's faces as they passed that they thought him 


INDIFFERENCE 


299 

a lucky fellow. They would have liked to be in his 
shoes, or rather, in his seat beside her, in the Run- 
away. 

He passed on, the trouble in his heart a shade lighter 
for the intrusion of something else, something pleasant. 
It was like diluting a nasty draught, or soothing pain by 
partly anaesthetising it. 

He reached home at his old time ; it seemed so 
familiar to fit the key into the lock and step into the 
hall, redolent, even through the closed kitchen door, of 
the savoury preparations for dinner. But no little 
woman ran out, smiling and anxious, to ascertain his 
mood. 

He had to go in search of her; he opened the sitting- 
room door and found her ensconced on the chesterfield, 
knitting those socks. This evening she had on a purply 
thing, a wrap, a tea-gown — he did not know what to 
call it — very graceful. It made her look slimmer than 
ever ; and stranger. All these strange clothes had the 
effect of increasing the gulf between them. In the old 
days she had to ask him, and she did not do it very often, 
for what she wanted, and it was his to withhold or to give. 
Everything about her then had seemed familiar because, 
in a way, it was his. But now she had a horrible inde- 
pendence, a mastery of life, even to spending her own 
money upon her own clothes. He did not mind that, of 
course ; he liked her to be able to buy what she wanted ; but 
it made a difference. 

She wore her amethyst earrings, but not the hair orna- 
ment from Paris. 

Coming up behind her quickly, he bent over and 
kissed her cheek, it being all that she offered. He laid 
a box of sweets on a table near, and it reminded 


MARRIED LIFE 


300 

her of that evening before he went away, when he 
had brought home a packet of chocolates to sugar his 
news. 

‘‘ Not lost your sweet tooth I hope,’^ he smiled. 

It's sweeter than ever." 

He untied the ribbons. ‘‘ Do you still thread these in 
your cammies?" 

‘‘ If they're pretty. That'll do for Minna — I'm wearing 
mauve now." 

I'd noticed." 

Because of poor mother, you know." 

Oh, of course." He put a bonbon in her mouth. 

What a nice baby it is ! " he said softly, stroking her 
silk knee. 

He knew himself to be a fool, but all that evening he 
let himself remain on the rack, wondering; wondering if 
she'd relent; if her stoniness wasn't just a mood, and if 
it hadn't passed away; wondering if he couldn't break 
down that unnatural opposition in her. And when at ten 
o'clock she rose and nodded ‘‘ Good night," he detained 
her, asking again urgently: 

Can't we — can't we — be as we were before?" 

Thank heaven, no ! " she replied, with a tiny 
shudder. 

Osborn looked at her narrowly and spoke crudely: 

Do you know, if I were like some men, I should tell 
you that I wouldn't stand such fool nonsense ; and there'd 
be an end of it? " 

She went a trifle paler, but displayed no fear. Don't 
you dare ! " she said between her teeth. I'd leave you 
next day." 

Again he went a little way up the corridor, but stopped 
before the aloof reserve of her look. 


INDIFFERENCE 


301 

Believe me/’ she said gravely, I couldn’t stand 
you.” 

He bit his lip sharply. It’s dangerous, you know, 
what you’re doing. I told you last night men are nat- 
ural animals all the world over. I shan’t stand being 
turned down like this for ever; it’s absurd, unnatural; it’s 
preposterous after we’ve been married all these years. I 
tell you what you’re doing is not safe. You’ll drive me 
elsewhere.” 

Make your own life,” she said, with a cheerful in- 
difference ; I have all I want in mine.” 

Osborn turned away with a sharp exclamation; and 
heard her door click behind her while he still stood in the 
corridor. 

That’s that ! ” he breathed hard. 

The next morning he took a bag with him and in the 
afternoon he wired home : Shall not be back for din- 
ner.” 

She read the telegram, uncaring. Two years ago it 
would have made her fear. She would have trembled 
over it; her heart would have leapt as at a thunderbolt; 
she would have run to her glass and reckoned with the 
sallowness of her face, the little lines about her eyes, each 
representing little anxieties about little things; her chapped 
hands and her dull wits. She would have thought 
of the other women, the hundreds of them, the younger, 
freer and fresher women who passed him by every day 
in the streets. But now she smiled; she felt awfully 
old, experienced in reading under and between the brief 
message. 

She mused: ‘^Tactics! How funny men are! Can he 
think I’ll mind?” 

It occurred to her, too, that perhaps it was not tactics; 


MARRIED LIFE 


302 

perhaps he genuinely quested in other directions; perhaps, 
already, she had driven him elsewhere. And still she was 
unmoved; she could not care. She longed to care very 
deeply, tragically, to thrill to the pulse of life again, but 
she could not. She even told herself that she was a little 
glad on his behalf and her own, if such was the solution. 
As she went in to dinner, and seated herself at the solitary 
table, she liked it; privacy had returned to her. This was 
almost like the year of her grass-widowhood. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


fool’s cap 

Osborn visited a smart flower shop when he went out to 
lunch and ordered carnations, a generous sheaf of them, 
to be sent to Miss Roselle Dates at the Piccadilly Theatre 
at half-past seven. He rang up and booked a stall for 
himself and, later, sent the wire to his wife. 

'' She’s cut me loose,” he said to himself, and that’s 
that.” 

He lunched as he liked now, with a memory that could 
afford to be humorous of the five-shilling weekly limit to 
which he had cut himself down in the bad old days only 
just over a year ago. But they were dear old days, too, 
when this extraordinary complication between his wife and 
him wasn’t even thought of. . . . 

His luck was wonderful. He sold another car that 
afternoon. Two three-hundred-pound cars in two 
days, meaning forty pounds in his pocket ! People 
liked him; he was big, good-looking and plausible, and 
he had a way with him which absolutely prevented any 
possible purchaser from ever giving another thought to 
any two-seater but the Runaway. When he turned out 
of the establishment that winter afternoon, on his way to 
an hotel to dress for his early and lonely dinner somewhere 
or other, he was pleased. Brisk business did a little towards 
lightening his trouble, just as less innocuous excitements 
might do. 


303 


304 


MARRIED LIFE 


Stick to business and stick to fun/’ he told himself 
grimly, as he strode along, and you’ll worry through.” 

He thought of his children more than of anyone 
else throughout the courses of his dinner in a light, 
bright, well-served restaurant. George was a fine little 
boy, and should be done well, thoroughly well, with 
no expense spared; he must get to know the little chap, 
take him about a bit and make him interested in things 
worth knowing. Minna was going to be pretty, a 
facsimile of her mother; and the baby was a splendid 
little female animal. There was no doubt that he 
possessed three beautiful kids of whom any man might be 
proud. 

Surely, if only for their sakes, some day she’d soften 
and return to him? Some evening he’d come home 
and find her as she used to be during the first year, 
sweet and eager, and shining ; loving and pas- 
sionate. . . . 

Osborn smoked several cigarettes over his coffee 
thinking of these things; he was in no hurry to see the 
show at the Piccadilly, and there would be plenty of 
time for Roselle afterwards. But he was rather lonely 
here by himself, and looked around somewhat wistfully 
at gay couples, laughing parties, all about him. There 
was not a woman there who could equal Marie, he said 
to himself ; if she were only here with him, with her fresh, 
soft face, and her springing hair, and her round and 
slender figure, she’d put all this paint and powder right out 
of court. 

But she was sitting afar off in a quiet flat, softly lighted, 
ineffably cosy, in the place called home, where husbands 
were not wanted. 

He confessed to himself : '' It used to be pretty beastly 


FOOL’S CAP 


305 

for her ; a little delicate thing — three babies and no nurse ; 
no help with anything. I suppose I could have done a 
lot, but how’s one to think of these things? I suppose Tve 
failed as a husband, but what am I to do about it now? 
It’s all over and can’t be helped.” 

He went to his stall at the Piccadilly, and, looking 
about him at other men’s clothes, decided that he must 
have new ones. The price of an evening suit need not 
trouble him now. He settled down and began to enjoy the 
play. 

Roselle was on the stage, in the beauty chorus, 
looking magnificent, and her eyes were sweeping the 
stalls. They paused here and there in their saucy 
habit, lingering upon more than one man with one of her 
tiny inscrutable smiles winging a message, but their search 
continued until at last she had found Osborn Kerr sitting 
on the lefthand side in the third row. He had scribbled 
on the card which accompanied his flowers, ‘‘ Look for 
me to-night,” and when her look met his, he had a sudden 
thrill of pleasure. Watching her eyes sweeping here and 
there, it had been exciting to wait for the moment when 
they should fall on him. After he had signalled back a 
discreet smile in answer, he put up his glasses and looked 
at her eagerly. 

Her beauty returned to his senses like a familiar thing; 
he had admired the way her hair grew from her temples, 
and to-night it was dressed to show the unusual charm; 
her ankles had always been wonderfully slim, and to-night 
they looked finer than ever atop of twinkly little Court 
shoes in a vivid green hue; her eyes had that deep, still 
look which expressed her inanity, while having the result 
of concealing it. 

During the first interval he scribbled a note to her, and 


3o6 married life 

sent it round with an imperative request for an answer. 
The note asked: 

"" My dear Roselle, come out to supper ? And shall I wait 
for you at the stage door? — O. K.'’ 

And her reply, in her big, silly back-hand writing, said 
laconically : 

Right, ril be out at eleven. — R. D.’’ 

Eleven found him waiting by the stage-door entrance, 
and she did not keep him long. Soon she came, big and 
brilliant, out from the gloomy gully, in the inevitable fur- 
coat which he remembered so well, but which had begun 
now to look battered, and the velvet hat shoved on cheekily, 
like a man’s wideawake. Her eyes and her teeth 
acclaimed him in a kindred smile, for which he felt the 
warmer. 

‘‘ Hallo, dear old thing! ” she greeted him. I thought 
you were lost.” 

He held her hand, smiling. ‘‘ This is fine! ” he said. 

Where shall we go ? ” 

Romano’s.” 

“ Romano’s let it be. I’ve a cab here, waiting.” He 
handed her in, jumped in after her, and slammed the door, 
with a feeling that for an hour at least he had left his 
troubles outside. 

How are you?” he asked. What have you been 
doing since I saw you last? And didn’t you ever expect 
to see me again ? ” 

Her eyes, in the dimness, looked very deep. 

I knew I should,” she answered murmurously. 


FOOL’S CAP 


307 

The inimitable atmosphere of Romano’s loosened his 
tongue. After she had ordered supper, with every whit 
of the appetite and extravagance which he remembered 
as her chief characteristic, next to her beauty, and after 
each had been stimulated by a cocktail, he was conscious 
that he wanted to confide in her, not so much because 
she was Roselle, but because she was a woman, would 
look soft and listen prettily. He wanted stroking 
gently, patting on the back, and reassuring about 
himself. 

The slight moodiness of his expression set her suggest- 
ing confidences. You’ve got a pretty bad hump,” she 
said caressingly. What is it ? Has the car slumped ? 
Won’t they have it? Or is it indigestion? You’re not 
what you were when ” 

She gave a quick sigh and smile, very inviting. 

When we were touring about Canada and the States 
together,” he finished. ‘‘Well, you see; when a man has 
come back to all he left behind him ” 

“ Did you leave much behind you? ” 

“ Why do you ask? ” 

“ You never told me anything,” she pouted. “ But I’m 
not asking. I’ve no curiosity. The knots men tie them- 
selves into ” 

“ You can laugh.” 

“You make me. Aren’t men silly? Tell me about — 
to whom you came back.” 

“ What does it matter ? ” 

“ It doesn’t. I don’t care.” She drummed her fingers 
on the table. “ All men are like cats, home by day, and 
tiles by night. But if you’d told me you were likely to 
get scolded for saying how d’you do to me, I’d have been 
more careful of you/’ 


MARRIED LIFE 


308 

Her smile derided him. ‘‘Has someone scolded you?’’ 
she asked. 

Consomme was set before them and she began to 
drink it with appetite, not repeating her question till it was 
finished. 

“Well?” she said then, tilting her head inquiringly to 
one side. 

“ The fact is,” he answered abruptly, “I — I’ve had a 
bad let-down.” 

“ Financial? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Oh ! Really ! ” she said pettishly. 

“ It doesn’t matter,” he remarked, rousing himself, “ the 
thing is to make the best of life, and by Jove! I’m going 
to!” 

“ So you come and look for me? ” 

“Precisely,” said Osborn. “You’ve been awf’ly de- 
cent to me, Roselle. Knowing you has meant a lot to 
me. I don’t believe you’d let a fellow down very badly, 
would you?” He began to feel tender towards her, and 
the stupidity and avarice, which he had awhile ago begun 
faintly to see in her, now receded under the spell of the 
lights and the hour. “ If no one else has cut in since I 
last saw you,” he said, leaning towards her, “ you might 
be kind to me again. Will you? I’m lonely. I’m simply 
too dreadfully lonely for anything. What are you doing 
this week-end?” 

“ Nothing,” she said after a careful pause. 

“ Come out into the country on Saturday.” 

“ I’ve a matinee.” 

“Of course. Sunday then? I’d bring the car round 
for you early, and we’d have a jolly day, get down to the 
sea somewhere. You’d like Brighton?” 


FOOL’S CAP 


309 


That’s a nice run,” she agreed. Yes! ” 

‘‘ We could get back for dinner. Where shall we dine 
— Pagani’s? ” 

She suggested, also, a supper club to which she belonged. 
‘^You’ll have to belong, too,” she said with enthusiasm. 

It’s the brightest thing in town. Will you, if I get some- 
one to propose you ? ” 

Rather!” 

He had felt dreadfully at a loose end before that 
evening, but now, this old intimacy again established, 
he was, in a restless sort of way, happier. As they 
drove home, she slid her hand into his pocket like a 
cunning child and said: ‘'Osborn, I want a fiver awf’ly 
badly; lend me one.” And it was pleasure to him 
to pull out a handful of money and let her pick out the 
gold. 

“I’ll pay you back quite soon,” she said, lying; and 
he replied: “ You know you won’t, you naughty girl; and 
you know I don’t want you to, either.” 

She kissed him good night with the facility of her type, 
in the taxicab as they crossed a dark corner. 

“ Less lonely now ? ” she queried. 

“ I don’t care who denies it,” said Osborn, “ a man’s 
got to have a woman in his life; he’s just got to. If one 
drives him. . . .” 

“ Poor boy ! ” she said in her murmurous way. 

He left her at her door and kept the cab to drive him to 
the nearest Tube station. A strange excitement filled him 
as he looked ahead to the direction in which he was drifting. 
What did it matter, anyway ? He was almost in the position 
of a man without ties. 

“ ‘ Make your own life,’ ” his wife had said, “ ‘ I have 
all I want in mine.’ ” 


310 


MARRIED LIFE 


‘‘ Well, ril make it,’’ said Osborn as he journeyed home- 
wards. 

The flat was alight, expecting his coming, though every- 
one was in bed. The fire had been made up, and his whisky 
decanter and soda siphon stood by a plate of sandwiches 
on the dining-room table Marie was looking after him 
infernally, defiantly well, he thought, as he splashed whisky 
irritably into a tumbler. It was almost as though she were 
making all she did utter for her : See how perfectly I 

fulfil my duties! See how comfortable you are! You’ve 
nothing whatever to grumble about. Make your own life 
and I’ll make mine.” 

He drank his whisky, thinking of Roselle. Here’s to 
Sunday!” was his silent toast. Yet it was not she who 
tugged tormentingly at his heart. 

But he was like a child who has been put into the corner, 
revengefully tearing the wallpaper. 

He wanted someone to be sorry; very, very sorry. 

There was dead silence in the flat. What a lonely place ! 

How queer life was! 

He went sullenly to his room, where his son was sleeping 
peacefully. 


CHAPTER XXV 


RECOMPENSE 

Osborn did not tell his wife that he was going to be away 
from home all Sunday. What did it matter to her? How 
could his plans, in any degree, be her plans, which he 
understood were, for the future, to be made independently 
of him? But though he asked himself this, he was wish- 
ing violently that she should care; he was hoarding up 
the announcement of his Sunday absence to spring upon 
her and make her blench. He hardly understood his pur- 
pose himself, so vague and racked, so resentful and re- 
morseful were his thoughts. But that was in his heart 
— to surprise, alarm and worry her. If only, when he 
observed casually : “ I shall not be in at all to-day,’’ he 

could see her colour quicken and the jealous curiosity in 
her eyes ! If only he could set her longing to cry : 

Why?” 

And then he could reply : ‘‘ I’m motoring,” and she 

might ask further : ‘‘ Where ? ” 

And then he could drop out casually : I’m running 

down to Brighton.” 

Would she inquire : With whom ? ” 

He rehearsed these things in spite of himself. 

On Saturday he returned to lunch. It was his old 
way on Saturdays, and the afternoon was free. A soft 


312 


MARRIED LIFE 


November day breathed beneficently over London. In the 
morning, he hardly knew why, he asked the senior partner 
whether he could take out a car to-day as well as Sunday. 
He drove home to Hampstead in the blue Runaway, with 
its silver fittings winking in the sun, and garaged it near 
by. 

He came in rather morosely, and was thoughtful over 
lunch, saying little, till at the end of the meal he lifted his 
eyes to his wife’s tranquil face and said suddenly: 

I brought a car home. I want to take you for a 
run.” 

‘‘ And me. Daddy! ” George shouted, but his father shook 
his head. 

No,” he said doggedly, not to-day. I just want 
mother.” 

I’d love to come,” said Marie readily. 

Osborn was in a strange humour, like a fractious 
child, and she did more than bear with it. She ignored 
it altogether. As they drove out of London, the busi- 
ness of threading the maze of traffic kept him from talk- 
ing even if he would, but when they had run into silence 
and the peace of the country, he was still quiet, gazing 
straight in front of him, his hat jammed down over his 
eyes and his jaw set rigid. At last he heard her voice 
saying : 

Isn’t it lovely? I wish we had a car.” 

‘‘ We can have one if you like.” 

He drove on fast. Sometime this afternoon, when she 
had tasted the joy of the day and the comfort of the car, 
he would tell her about Sunday — no details, only the 
bleak blank fact: 

I shall be away all to-morrow ; I’m motoring down 
to Brighton.” 


RECOMPENSE 


313 

They went through Epsom and Leatherhead to more 
rustic villages beyond, and he pulled up at last on the 
summit of a great hill, fringed on either side with 
trees. 

This is a jolly place to stop for tea,” he said, 
breaking his long silence. Tve got everything here.” 

As he pulled out a tea basket from the back of the 
car she watched him calmly. She still thought him ex- 
cessively good-looking. In their engaged days they 
had often escaped into the country — but on foot — 
and picnicked together; each had known the other to be 
the most wonderful person in the world. Now that love 
had passed the memory was well worth keeping, and she 
enjoyed it quietly as she sat in the car, looking down upon 
the back of his head bent over his task. He sat down 
again, opening the basket between them, and set up the 
spirit stove and lighted it for her to boil the minute kettle 
upon it. While she did this, it was his turn to watch 
her; and presently from his moroseness he said in a very 
soft voice: 

‘‘IPs like old days, isn’t it?” 

“ Only we’re more gorgeous.” 

“You’re enjoying it?” 

“ Immensely. Why wouldn’t you take George ? ” 

“ I didn’t want him. Did you ? ” 

“ I always want him.” 

“ We’re going to stay out till long past his bed- 
time” 

“Are we?” 

“ There’s a moon. It’s tophole for motoring. I’m — 
taking this car out again to-morrow.” 

“Are you?” 

He shot a glance at her and postponed the matter, They 


MARRIED LIFE 


3H 

drove on fast and far, only turning when the moon was 
up and stars were in the sky. They arrived again upon 
the summit of the great hill, the fringing trees now black 
in the light of fairy whiteness, before he spoke again of 
what filled his brain. 

He drew up the car and, turning a look of inquiry upon 
him, she saw him bending towards her, his eyes fixed upon 
her face. He flung out an arm along the back of the seat, 
behind her. 

Marie,’’ he said, I want to ask you something which 
you can’t answer.” 

Why ask it, then?” 

‘‘ Because I’m going to. It’s this : where are we two 
going?” 

You’re right,” she said slowly, I can’t answer 
that.” 

‘‘What’s the meaning of this dreadful indifference? 
This extraordinary indifference?” 

“It’s not extraordinary; if you’d only believe me it’s 
the indifference thousands of women feel for their hus- 
bands; only in our case special circumstances — your 
absence, mother’s money — have made me able to 
realise it.” 

“ Well, if thousands of women have this indifference, 
which you say isn’t so very extraordinary, for their hus- 
bands, what — what’s the way all these chaps win these 
thousands of wives back?” 

“ They don’t.” 

“ But I want to win you back. Here and now, humiliat- 
ing as it sounds, I declare I’d follow you around on my 
knees if — if it meant getting you.” 

“ It wouldn’t. I’m very sorry. Do you think you love 
me?” 


RECOMPENSE 


315 


His hand dropped down heavily on her shoulder. 

Yes!’’ 

I wish I loved you, but I don’t. You — you’ve tired 
me out. I suppose that’s it.” 

Very well, I’ll take what you say. But I’ve another 
question. Don’t you guess where all this is driving 
me? ” 

Don’t hold me like that, Osborn.” 

“ I’ll only do it a few minutes. Answer my question. 
What do you expect of me?” 

Absolutely nothing,” she owned. 

‘‘ And you don’t care what I do ; where I go ; what 
happens?” 

‘‘It’s curious; I don’t. Once if I thought you 
met, looked at, spoke to, any other woman prettier 
or better dressed than I could be, I suffered torture. 
But now, I’m through with it. I’m sorry it should be 
so.” 

“ But that’s that,” said Osborn roughly, with a brief 
laugh. 

He pulled her to him strongly, kissing her. 

“ I love you, you know. But if you’ve no more use for 


“Well?” 

“ Don’t expect too much of me, that’s all.” 

“ I have told you that I expect nothing.” 

“ Then you ought to ! ” he broke out angrily. 

“ I thought men appreciated complaisant wives.” 

“Complaisant? It’s callousness; don’t-careness. You 
mean me to understand, then, that you’ve reckoned with 
everything? ” 

“No, I don’t. I mean you to understand that I don’t 
trouble to do any reckoning about you at all.” 


3i6 married life 

As she uttered the words she was conscious of the 
brutality of them; but she was speaking truth, repre- 
senting those feelings which had taken the place of 
love-emotions in her heart; and what else was there to 
say? 

‘‘ I must say,'' he said, ‘‘ you're candid." 

I want to be. If we once thoroughly understood 
each other we’d shake down better and go our ways in 
peace. I don't want formal separation, for the children’s 
sake." 

Formal separation? If we had that, because you re- 
fused to live with me, desertion would be constituted and 
Fd get the children, you know." 

‘‘ I wonder," she said, starting. I should fight." 

He saw the set meditation on her face under the moon- 
light. 

Would there be nothing I could say? " she asked, lifting 
her eyes to his. I wonder if there’d be no countercharge 
ingenuity could bring?" 

She did not mean what occurred to him; the things 
in her mind were of too untechnical a nature to find a 
hearing in the divorce courts ; but as she asked 
her question suddenly his heart seemed to rock and 
to stand still for a space, while he shifted his eyes 
rapidly from hers and gazed straight out over the 
steering-wheel, down the hill, into the blue-white moonlit 
distance 

Roselle ! 

Who would believe his innocent tale if he stood up in 
that sad court which recorded the most human of all 
frailties, and said: We travelled together here and we 

travelled together there; and I defrayed these expenses 
and those expenses; and I've kissed her; and yes, we've 


RECOMPENSE 


317 

certainly been alone in very compromising circumstances, 
but I ask you to believe that technically my marital honour 
is intact, and that Tve been true and faithful to my 
wife ’’ ? 

The fun and the folly which had been so worth 
while, so like a draught of wine on the cold journey 
through middle-class pauperism, now appeared stripped 
of their carnival trappings. It was only folly which 
stared back at him now, and she had become ugly; sick- 
ening and wholly undesirable. Folly was utter trash. He 
replied to Marie in a voice so studied as to rivet her atten- 
tion, asking: 

‘‘ What do you mean? ’’ 

She looked at him, and knowledge came to her, 
born of a swift intuition raised by his obvious 
difficulties. In a flash she knew ; but even while she 
knew, she didn’t care; it was lamentable, how dead she 
was. 

Oh,” she hesitated, a faint smile crossing her lips, ‘‘ I 
mean nothing. Please don’t suppose I wish to make your 
private affairs mine.” 

So great was his want that she should feel, should ask 
and demand him to give up his secrets, that he was impelled 
to declare: 

Marie, if you were to ask me. I’d tell you everything 
about this last year. Every little thing. There should 
be nothing kept back from you.” 

'' I don’t ask, Osborn,” she replied very gen- 
tly. 

Silence settled down upon them. They remained at the 
top of the great hill, each staring down it into the long 
space of unearthly clearness and light. Automatically he 
withdrew his arm from her shoulders where it had been 


MARRIED LIFE 


1 


318 


resting heavily and dropped his hand on the steering-wheel. 
After awhile he said : 

By the way, Tm going out with this car to- 
morrow.’’ 

‘‘ So you told me,” she answered. 

‘'Had I mentioned it before?” he said thickly. 
“ Well ... I shall be out all day.” 

“ Thank you for telling me. It’s considerate of you. 
We make a little difference in the catering if 
you’re out.” 

He clenched his hand round the wheel. 

“ I’m running down to Brighton ; but I shall get back 
to town for dinner; late motoring’s pretty cold in Novem- 
ber. I shall be dining at Pagani’s — where we used to go 
so much, you remember.” 

“ I remember. I hope you’ll have a fine day.” 

He gave a savage twitch to the hand-brake, let in his 
clutch, and in a moment or two the car ran forward. 

“ It beats me,” he whispered to himself. “ It — just 
— beats — me.” 

His whisper was lost in the rush of the car down the 
hill. His wife had leaned back snugly under the fur 
rug and her profile in the moonlight was serene, 
neither happy nor unhappy, but absolutely complacent. 
He seemed to get a glimpse of their future, with her 
figure travelling away into a far distance, divergent from 
his. 



RECOMPENSE 


319 


That was marriage. 

Two strangers met each other; fused, became of one 
flesh and one spirit, kindled a big hearth fire called home; 
travelled away from each other; and two strangers died. 
Marriage ! 

The next day, Sunday, he took the Runaway 
out of her garage early, and drove, earlier than the 
hour Roselle had mentioned, to the flat which she 
shared with another woman swimming down the 
same stream as herself and catching at the same 
straws. 

She was not dressed ; when a charwoman let him 
in upon the Sunday morning debris of the place, 
Roselle’s voice rang shrill and ill-tempered down the 
corridor 

‘‘Osborn, that you already? I’m not dressed; I’ve not 
breakfasted; I’m not even awake. Just put your head in 
here and see.” 

Following the direction of the voice, he opened a 
door a few inches, and put his head round. An array 
of women’s litter confronted him strewn on every avail- 
able chair, on dressing-table and floor. The windows 
must have been closed, or nearly so ; the blinds were 
down; there was a faint reek of perfume and spirits and 
stale cigarette smoke * in the room ; and in two narrow 
tumbled beds were two women, one whose head was 
still drowsy on her pillow, and Roselle, who sat up in 
a pale blue nightgown with a black ribbon girdled high 
about the waist, and her raven hair in a mop over her 
eyes. 

“ What a fug! ” said Osborn. 

“All right,” said Roselle, “go away, then! I shall be 
an hour dressing. You’d better wait in the sitting-room; 


320 MARRIED LIFE 

there’s a Sunday paper there, and a fire if the woman’s 
lighted it.” 

The woman was kindling the fire hastily and grumbling 
when he went into the sitting-room, still in its state of 
early morning frowsiness. The curtains had been pulled 
aside to let in the morning, but the windows were not 
yet open, and empty liqueur glasses had not been removed 
from the table. 

It’s early for visitors,” grumbled the charwoman. ‘‘ I 
don’t reckon to come till nine on a Sunday morning, and 
I start with the washing-up, and none of the rooms ain’t 
done.” 

I don’t care a straw,” said Osborn irritably, walk- 
ing to a window. He flung it up and heard the drab 
creature behind him shudder resentfully at the inrush of 
raw air. He put his hands in his pockets, staring out 
and emitting a tuneless whistle. All was awry, unprofit- 
able and stale as the cigarette smoke of which the place 
reeked. 

Roselle was not an hour dressing, in spite of her threat. 
By eleven they were away. 

sic 3|e ^ 

It happened that the only woman Osborn had taken 
down to Brighton for the day, before he took Roselle, 
was Marie ; and harmless as the proceeding was, it 
affected him for a while as any first plunge affects a 
man. It was like taking a first step which signified some- 
thing. As they sat at lunch, he looked around him and 
recognised easily the types which he saw. Everybody 
was doing what he was doing; everybody was out for 
pleasure with a flavouring of risk in it. Powder and rouge 
and fur coats were like a uniform, so universal they were; 


RECOMPENSE 


321 

and as he looked around and saw the army of pleasure- 
women whose company men purchased upon the basis 
on which you could purchase things at the Stores, his 
would-be gaiety failed him somewhat and he was a little 
weary. 

Roselle found him dull. 

They lunched, and talked, and the talk had to have a 
silly meretricious flavour in it which tired him further; 
in the afternoon they walked on the front; and they went 
to another hotel for tea. There was a blaring band and 
much noise and laughter from all the pleasure-people. The 
air was the air of a hothouse where strange, forced and 
unnatural exotics bloom to please strange, forced and un- 
natural tastes. 

Osborn did not know why he found himself so sick, and 
so soon, of what, to the woman at his side, was the breath 
of her life; he was vexed and disappointed that to him 
the day was so stupid and so savourless. 

If the pleasures of men failed him, what was left? 

He was thinking definitely while they drove on the 
much-trafficked road back to more gaudy lights and 
noise, the lights and noise of town; and he wondered 
how to fill the emptiness of his heart, how to appease 
the restless burning of his brain, and stifle before they 
could cry out all the dear things his soul wanted. He 
looked at the woman by his side, insatiable, greedy, stupid, 
nothing to all appearances but a beautiful body, and he 
asked himself if she could do it, or if she could not. And 
while he knew, right down in him, that she could not fulfil 
a fraction of his needs, he desired so much to believe that 
she could, that, in spite of his weariness with this mis- 
called business of pleasure, he made hot love to her all the 
way back. 


MARRIED LIFE 


322 

Over the dinner-table at Pagani’s he advanced a farther 
step upon the road which he was resolved to walk with 
her, failing other companionship. 

‘‘ Roselle,’’ he said, deliberately, ‘‘ this isn’t enough. 
How long are you going to play about with me like a 
beautiful pussy cat? I’ve been very good, haven’t I? 
When I think of what a good boy I’ve been I could laugh.” 
He laughed deeply. You know, I could love you a lot. 
Why don’t you give me a trial? There isn’t anyone else, 
is there ? ” 

He was amazed at himself to feel jealousy hot in him 
as he put the question. 

There was no one else at the moment; but she sat 
thinking and playing with the stem of her wineglass, and 
keeping a half-cynical, half-simpering silence. It was the 
veil with which she shrouded her stupidity while she de- 
bated the pros and cons with herself as deliberately as she 
had spoken. 

No,” she said at last, with a long, meaning look 
which meant nothing. No, there is no one else, 
Osborn.” Her sigh ruffled the chiffons on her 
breast. 

I’m going to Paris for the firm next month ; it’ll 
only be a week-end. Come, too? I’ll give you a good 
time.” 

I’ll see,” she murmured, her stupidity not dense 
enough to give a promise thus early. A month ? A 
long, long while, an age, in which other things might turn 
up. 

So’ll I,” he said, looking into her eyes. “ I’ll see that 
you come.” 

I haven’t a rag to wear.” 

You’ll have all Paris to choose from.” 


RECOMPENSE 


323 

I do want a couple of hats/’ she said, with the worldly 
yet childish naivete of her class; ‘‘ Fm going to Bristol 
in panto — at Christmas, you know/’ 
ril come down.” 

She was conscienceless, like the rest of her type. She 
knew, her observation had told her long ago, that this man 
had ties, domestic relations, duties; all of which mattered 
nothing to her. Before her wants and desires, momentary 
though they might be, all considerations flew like thistle- 
down before strong wind. 

A Nero among women, like the rest of her pleasure- 
sisters, she was planned for destruction and she went 
upon her way destroying. The loudest cry could not 
reach her, nor the greatest sorrow touch her; nor could 
broken hearts block the path to the most fleeting of her 
desires. 

She cared not who wept ; as she had no faith, nor power 
for pity, so she had no tears. 

She took Osborn Kerr into her hands. 

She said idly, to pass the time, but softly, just as if 
there was some meaning behind the question : ‘‘ What 

made you think there was anyone else, dear ? ” 

He looked at her and spoke rather hoarsely, under 
the influence of the matter in hand: ‘‘Oh well; there 
might have been. Roselle, do you think you can love 
me?” 

“ I could,” she answered. She assimilated the details of 
a near-by toilette. “ But ” 

“ Don’t let’s have any ‘ buts.’ ” 

She had no subtlety, only the power of making what she 
said subtle; and she said: 

“ I don’t know that loving is wise.” 

Osborn was in her hands; thrown upon her mercy; 


324 MARRIED LIFE 

a beggar for just so much as she cared to give. He an- 
swered : 

Who cares about wisdom ? It's the only thing worth 
doing, anyway." 

Roselle began pulling her fur coat up over her arms; it 
was past ten o'clock; and on Sundays she went to bed 
early, to counteract as far as might be the results of all 
the late nights during the week. 

Take me home," she demanded. 

In the taxicab Osborn took her into his arms and began 
whispering to her things to which she did not listen; had 
he only known it, she was extremely sleepy from the effects 
of all the fresh air during the day, but triumphantly he 
took her inertia for the surrender for which he had, so 
suddenly, craved. 

He was begging for that promise about Paris, but she 
would not give it. A month ? What an age it was — 
any good thing might happen. 

She would not let him come into the flat. I'm too 
sleepy," she declared. She stood before him on the inner 
side of her threshold, with a faint smile on her face that 
was as pale as magnolia flowers, and her eyelids drooping 
heavily ; she put out a lazy hand against his chest and warded 
off his entry. When she sent him away, he felt on fire, 
from the last look of her, thus. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


COMPREHENSION 

When Marie had waved to her husband a stereotyped 
good-bye, and had kissed schoolboy George a warm one, 
on Monday morning, when leisurely quiet had come 
again to the flat, and as she still lingered over her news- 
paper, the door bell rang and Mrs. Desmond Rokeby was 
admitted. 

Julia — fresh, heavenly, without a frown, without a care, 
without a regret — blew into Number Thirty like a Christ- 
mas rose and clasped Marie in a glad embrace. 

‘'It's early; it's shockingly early, but I came up with 
Desmond this morning and knowing your habits — you do 
still wheel your own perambulator on the Heath, don't you, 
at eleven-thirty? — I rushed here first." 

“ How splendid you look ! " 

“ I feel splendid ! " The two women stood at arm's 
length, eyeing each other inquisitively and frankly, and- 
Julia's ingenuous blush was the reflection of a divine 
dawn. 

She sat down, put her feet on the fender, loosened her 
furs. 

“I may stay and talk?" 

“May you not! Oh! I'm glad to see you — it seemed 
as if your honeymoon was going to last for ever." 

“ It's not over." 

“ That's what we all say." 


325 


326 


MARRIED LIFE 


Don’t be cynical, dear,” said the new Julia. 

Marie waved this away with a brief laugh. I want 
all your news,” she demanded. Where are you living? 
What are your plans? What’s the house like, and where 
did you get your furniture? ” 

“ We’ve got a wee house, the dearest thing, near 
Onslow Gardens, and we’ve not finished furnishing yet; 
we’re proceeding with it this afternoon. I’m lunching with 
Desmond, and then we’re going furnishing together. Des- 
mond loves it.” 

“ And you — you’re happy ? ” 

Oh, Marie ! I was never so happy in my life.” 

The baby rose from its play at the other side of the 
dining-room, and, tottering to her mother, begged to be 
lifted upon her lap. 

‘‘ I only want one of those/' said Julia, regarding the 
mite. 

That will come,” Marie replied with a forced gaiety. 

Desmond took me for a motoring honeymoon,” said 
Julia. ‘‘ As you know, we had made no plans. There 
wasn’t time. At least, I hadn’t, but it seemed he’d got 
them all mapped out in his head, the wicked thing! We 
had a simply lovely time, and coming home is lovelier. I 
adore pottering round a house, arranging this and that, and 
ordering the dinner.” 

You enjoy it? ” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

“ But you hated the domestic life; you were always up 
in arms at the thought of marriage ; you loathed even hear- 
ing of a /wedding. You used to talk of slavery . . . don’t 
you remember?” 

“Ah, but — that was before I married.” 

“ Then, what do you think now ? ” 


COMPREHENSION 


327 

IVs the only life/’ Julia stated with final conviction. 
“ It’s meant for us all ; we were made for it ; and we’re 
never truly happy otherwise. Desmond and I have talked 
over all these things, and I understand a lot which I didn’t 
understand before.” 

Marie stroked the baby’s curly head without replying; 
she held its feet in her hand, and caressed them, and patted 
its small fat legs, and coaxed a gurgle from it. But even 
while the baby ravished her heart, the heart was busy with 
the bride before her and the bridal raptures which she 
had known, only to lose upon the wayside where so many 
bridal raptures lie dead and dying; outworn and weary. 
Tears to which she had long been a stranger rose in her 
eyes, and formed one of those big hurtful lumps in her 
throat, so that she would not trust her voice to Julia’s 
ears. 

That dreadful softness of longing — she had thought 
she would never know it again, never more be covered 
with it like a shore beneath the inward flow of the 
sea. 

‘‘ Desmond wants to meet Osborn,” said Julia. He 
rang him up on Saturday morning, but he was engaged. 
Won’t you and your husband come to dinner with me and 
my husband one evening at Onslow Gardens? ” 

Julia uttered the words ‘‘ my husband ” with a pleasure 
which she could not secrete from the eyes of Marie. Had 
she not known it, too? Had she not once delighted in 
saying, My husband thinks.” . . . ‘‘ My husband says.” 

. . . ^‘ My husband does. . . .” simply for the crass joy 
of hearing the sound? 

Julia went on: 

When can it be? Let’s fix a date early. Do, there’s 
a dear! There’ll be a peculiar joy to Desmond and me 


MARRIED LIFE 


330 

What do you think you’ll do ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing/’ said Marie, above all, nothing. The 
children will keep us under the same roof. We shall 
be like thousands of other married people, privately 
free; publicly tied up tight together in the same dear old 
knot.” 

Her brief laugh trembled. 

‘‘ Marie, you know you think it is a dear old knot.” 

Marie did not reply. After awhile she said: 

‘‘ We’re not coming to dinner with you for a very long 
while. This morning Fve come nearer hating you, Julia,* 
than I’ve ever done in our lives. I want to hate you be- 
cause you’re so happy; because you’ve got the love which 
I want but can never have again.” 

‘‘ Are you sure of that? ” 

Sure, my dear? Sure as the world. You can’t have 
that kind of love without giving a return, and I’ve none 
to give. It’s dead; gone; dried up. I don’t know where 
it is. But perhaps there’s a root of it left somewhere — 
enough to make me envy you.” 

Ann the maid entered to fetch the baby to be dressed 
for outdoors, and Julia received the hint sorrowfully. 

Isn’t there anything Desmond and I could do?” 
she asked, as she stood up and muffled her furs about her 
throat. 

There’s nothing anyone can do.” 

I wanted to talk about a lot of things — ask you about 
your fortunes, and everything, darling; but this has driven 
it all clean out of my head.” 

Our fortunes are on the upgrade, thanks, Julia. Never 
again will I spoil my hands and let my teeth and hair go; 
it’s all over — that part of it.” 

Julia kissed Marie very tenderly, as she used to do. I 


COMPREHENSION 


331 

shall come again soon/' she called with an anxious vivacity, 
as she waved her muff in a good-bye signal from a bend 
in the cold grey stairs. 

But Marie went in again very quickly and shut the 
door. She stood with her hands clenched and her 
breast heaving, tears running unchecked down her 
cheeks. 

She stood on tiptoe to peer into the glass over the mantel, 
and the storm in her face quickened the storm in her 
heart. Raging jealousy entered and possessed her. It 
whirled about like a tornado, scattering before it all that 
was orderly, that was lesser and weaker than itself. 
Marie Kerr was taken up in the grip of it, and driven 
along upon a headlong course which she could not pause to 
consider. 

As she looked at herself in the glass, she cried 
aloud furiously: ‘‘No one shall ever take what is 
mine ! " 

Little pulses began to hammer in her, which had not 
so hammered since Osborn started upon his joy-year. No 
more could she bear contemplation of Julia and her de- 
light. She ran along the corridor to her room, calling to 
the maid: 

“You'll have to take baby out this morning; and do 
the shopping; and, oh! everything. I've got to go out, 
and I don't know when I'll be back." 

With the door of the pink bedroom shut upon her, 
she dressed herself with trembling speed. Her new 
black velvet suit, her furs, her violets, her amethyst ear- 
rings, her silk stockings, and suede shoes and white gloves ! 
Thank God for clothes when a woman was out upon the 
chase ! 

She whispered with an anger that was fiendish ; that rose 


332 MARRIED LIFE 

from its dust right back from the age of barbarism, and 
came at her call : 

‘"No one shall take what is mine! ’’ 

She swept money lavishly into her bag; no expenses 
of locomotion were going to stand in her way. She 
flew down the cold grey stairs and out into the street. 
Because the Tube would be quicker than a cab, she 
travelled upon it; and people looked at her fevered cheeks, 
her shining eyes, wondering what drove this lovely 
woman, and upon what errand. Excitement beautified her 
and gave to her a transcendent quality which drew all 
eyes. 

Uplifted as she was, yet she noticed this homage, 
and her woman’s soul leapt, exulting. It was like ap- 
plause; like a great voice encouraging, cheering her on. 
It gave her pride and the supreme vanity to pursue her 
way. 

She left the Tube at Charing Cross, and drove in a 
taxicab to her husband’s place of business. One or two 
urbane men, strangers to her, hurried forward as she 
alighted from the cab, inquiring her pleasure, and she said, 
smiling: ‘‘ I want my husband;- I’m Mrs. Kerr.” 

As she said “ My husband,” delight took her, absurdly 
like Julia’s. She checked a laugh at it. 

Osborn had gone out to lunch. 

Did they know where ? ” 

“ I heard him telephone, booking a table for two at the 
Royal Red,” one of the men said, and bit off his words 
suddenly as he caught the humorous warning look of the 
other. The look said: “We’re all the same; don’t get 
the poor fellow into trouble.” 

She understood it and again checked a laugh. She 
thanked them, jumped into the taxicab, and as the two 


COMPREHENSION 


333 

men hurried after her, vying with each other as to which 
should do her the service of closing the door, she leaned 
forward and said buoyantly : 

"'Yes, youVe given my husband away badly! The 
table wasn't for me! Tell the driver to go to the 
Royal Red/' 

She could joke about the matter, so complete she felt 
her power to be. She had in her, strong and vital, an 
irresistible feeling of achievements to come, as if 
nothing in the world could defeat her purpose, nor 
gainsay her will ; it was like an inspiration which 
cannot be wrong. And as she entered the restaurant, and 
swept her eyes over the ground floor, she found at once 
those whom she looked for — her husband and the other 
woman. 

As she went forward slowly, calm now, confident 
and at ease, she remembered, with a rising and fierce 
sense of satisfaction, the raven hair, the high shoulders 
and white face, the attractive insolence of her rival. 
They had been before upon the same battle-ground; but 
now the battle was level; nay, it was more than level; it 
waxed in favour of the wife, who, with every weapon to 
her hand, advanced leisurely to employ them against the 
woman who had none save that of her stupid beauty, allied 
to the strategy of her greed. 

Marie came right up and stood by their table before 
Osborn perceived her; then she smiled. 

She stepped into the breach of silence promptly, with 
sweet speech. 

“I hope," she said, " I'm not intruding? But I'm 
shopping, and I was told you had come here, and I wanted 
lunch, so I followed. Do introduce me to this lady and 
give me some." 


334 


MARRIED LIFE 


He stammered, somehow: ' 

Miss Dates, my wife/’ 

Marie sat down. 

Where are you?” she said, glancing at the menu. 

‘‘The roast Til join you there. Do tell me Tm not 

intruding, both of you. I am conscious of this being a 
horrible thing to do and I want to be reassured.” 

“ Delighted to see you,” Roselle chimed glibly, sweep- 
ing the wife with a look of comprehending fury to which 
even her slug nature could rouse itself upon such an occa- 
sion. 

“If you’d rung me up, dear,” said Osborn to his wife, 
“ I should have been charmed to take you anywhere you 
liked.” 

“ And broken your appointment with me ! ” Roselle 
supplied suddenly, and the gage was down between the two 
women. 

Roselle Dates eyed the wife warily and feared her. And 
the measure of her hate matched that of her fear. Leaning 
forward, her white chin on her white hands, she cooed 
across the table: 

“But rd have forgiven him, Mrs. Kerr, if it was only 
for the sake of the jolly time he gave me yesterday.” 

“ At Brighton ? ” Marie smiled across at Osborn. 

He nodded. “ I told you I was going.” 

“ Do you like the car ? ” Marie asked Roselle sweetly. 

“ She’s a duck,” said the other woman, her eyes 
snapping, “ but of course yesterday wasn’t my first ac- 
quaintance with her. I know her every trick well. When 
we were in New York people were so struck by her neatness 
in traffic.” 

Osborn started involuntarily, exclaiming as involun- 
tarily : 


COMPREHENSION 


335 


‘‘ Roselle!’’ 

‘‘ What ? ” she asked, turning a stare upon him. 

He fidgeted uncomfortably. Don’t be an ass,” he said. 
‘‘ Marie ” 

‘"What, dear?” asked his wife. 

Again he fidgeted. “ When Miss Dates mentions being 
in New York ” he began. 

“ And Chicago and all through Canada from 
Montreal to the West,” said Roselle, continuing upon 
the breakneck course she seemed to have chosen in a 
moment. 

“ She means to tell you,” said Osborn doggedly, 
“ that she was doing a concert tour which coincided 
almost, though not quite, with my movements, and that 
having met her on board, we — we did some motoring 
together.” 

Breathless, he awaited the working of the most amaz- 
ing situation in which he had ever found himself, and 
he had not long to wait. He did not know how much 
his wife knew nor what might be her summing up; he 

did not know that during the night Roselle had slept 

upon the problem of himself and had concluded he was 
too good to lose; he did not understand in the least what 
motives were actuating these two women ; the flaming 
and insolent resentment of Roselle at the other’s mere 
presence; the calm and pretty .pose of his wife. He 

gazed at each in embarrassed bewilderment, and Roselle, 
her chin still on her palms, and her eyes bright 

and stony, commented on his explanation. She 
drawled : 

“ Osborn, you’re a liar. Your wife knows as well as I 
do that she could divorce you to-morrow.” 

‘‘ But Miss Dates would be a fool, which I am sure she 


336 MARRIED LIFE 

is not/’ said the wife’s pretty voice, “ if she imagines I 
would do it.” 

Husband and wife looked at each other across the table, 
and the question in the eyes of one, the answer in the 
eyes of the other, were naked and unashamed. They could 
be read by the woman between them. And regardless of 
her presence, they asked and answered each other in eager 
words. 

'' Marie, do you want me ? ” 

‘'Yes; I want you.” 

Osborn turned to Roselle Dates. He turned to her 
as to something tiresome, hindering the true business 
of the hour. “ Roselle, he said crisply, “ my wife 
wishes to lunch with me alone. Will you go; or shall 
we? ” 

“ I’ll go,” she replied very slowly, “ but I shall expect 
some sort of explanation.” 

He stood up and put on her coat and their eyes were 
almost level, looking right into each other’s. 

“An explanation? You won’t get it,” he whispered 
back. 

“ It’s due to me. You’re a rotter.” 

“ There’s nothing due to you,” he replied with a sudden 
air of relief at the discovery. f 

An abounding idea of happiness to come filled him as 
he moved beside Roselle down the crowded restaurant. As 
they went he said : “ It’s all over ; I’m a fool no longer. 

You understand there’s only one woman in the world for 
me and that’s my wife. And since she has some use for 
me again . . . Good-bye ! ” 

He held out his hand, but she refused it angrily. 
She stood, biting her lip, tapping her foot, her head 
averted, upon the kerb; her attitude of pique was 


COMPREHENSION 


337 

amusingly familiar to him; often it had gained for her 
the gratification of some petulant desire; but now all 
that he wanted was to hurry back to the table they had 
left. 

There were real things ; and trash ; well defined. 

‘‘ Taxi ! ’’ he said in a ringing voice to the commission- 
aire. 

Where are you going, Roselle? 

‘‘ Home,’' she answered venomously. 

He put her in, paid the driver and gave the direction. 

Pm sorry you had not quite finished your lunch,” he said 
perfunctorily, looking in. 

She bit her lip and averted her head ; but she was aware, 
in spite of her refusal to see, or hear, or speak to him, that 
before her cab had started he was returning back with a 
swift step into the restaurant. 

There sat the wife who held all the cards — as wives do 
if they will only play them aright. She was not smiling, 
nor exultant, nor blatant over it, but triumph was in every 
line of her as she waited there, slender, lovely, and sartorially 
exquisite. From the tip of her shoe to the crown of her 
hat she was conquest. 

He sat down, thinking over words to say, and she looked 
at him critically, yet eagerly, and waited for him to 
speak. 

He cleared his throat. 

Marie, he said, ‘‘ hang lunch — until you under- 
stand me. This has been an extraordinary quarter of 
an hour. I didn’t know you had it in you. You 
women — you have me fairly beat. I just want — I hope 
— I long for you to believe me, when I tell you that rot 
she talked about divorce . . . that is to say, I swear to 
you, that, except on circumstantial evidence, you wouldn’t 


MARRIED LIFE 


338 

have the ghost of a case. But, Marie, on circumstantial 
evidence, I — I don’t know that a judge and jury wouldn’t 
convict me.” 

His wife was still looking at him critically, eagerly; 
and he met her eyes full, and saw, down in the depths 
wherein had been his delight, a great faith. 

She believed him. 

He tingled with joy. "" I’ve been a fool,” he 
weighed out slowly. We are; and we — we want 
looking after, you know. We can’t stand our wives 
forsaking us. We ask a lot of you, I suppose. Yes, it’s 
a lot.” 

“ Well,” she murmured, we’ve always got it to give. 
We’re made that way.” 

Not all of you,” he denied, with a fleeting thought of 
Roselle. 

Tell me,” Marie asked, what were you and she talking 
of so earnestly when I came in? It won’t matter anyway 
— but I’m just curious to know.” 

‘‘Shall I tell you?” 

“ I’ve asked.” 

He answered very slowly, as if still weighing his 
words: “We were talking of a coming trip I have to 
make to Paris; I was asking her if she wouldn’t come, 
too.” 

A little colour rose in his wife’s face. 

“ I’ll come instead,” she said clearly. 

Jjc 5|c sK * 

Osborn Kerr let himself into No. 30, Welham 
Mansions, laden with packages. He knew not what 
thank-offerings to make to heaven, so he made them to 
his family. Flowers and chocolate boxes hung about 
him. 


COMPREHENSION 


339 


He whistled gaily. 

Only three hours ago he had parted from her after that 
memorable lunch and, now, here he was again with her in 
the place called home. 

At the sound of his key she came out of her bedroom, 
dressed for dinner. The flat was quiet save for homely 
sounds from the kitchen. Osborn took his wife in his arms 
and kissed her. He stated exuberantly: ‘‘I came home 
early; I just had to.’’ 

They went into the sitting-room hand in hand, and 
she sat down on the chesterfield before the fire. He did 
not want to sit down; he was too happy and restless and 
urgent. Now and again he hung over the back of the 
couch, to caress her, or whisper love words in her ear, 
and now and again he walked about touching this or that 
familiar object and finding new attractions in each. It 
was like the first coming to that flat when the very taps 
over the sink had been superior to all other taps under the 
rosy flicker of the new-kindled fire of love. 

What an evening it was! He kept saying, breaking 
away from some other thing, to say it : I can't think this 
is all true. I can't think that you are just you, and I am 
just I, all over again. And that we're really going to be 
the two happiest souls on earth ! " 

He came to Grannie Amber's old rosewood piano and 
stood touching it reverently. There's a little thing I 
heard," he exclaimed suddenly, that I'd like to sing to you. 
It's called ‘ Please,' and it's just what I'm saying to you 
all the time." 

He sat down to vamp an odd accompaniment indiffer- 
ently, but Marie was not listening for the accompaniment. 
It was his voice which she wanted, and gave her ears to 
hear; and he sang: 


340 


MARRIED LIFE 


“ Oh, Heart-of-all-the-World to me, 

I love you more than best; 

Then lie so gently in my arms 
And droop your head and rest. 

My kisses on your dark, dark hair 
Nor Time nor tears shall grey; 

But the little wandering, laughing loves 
They dower beside the way. 

** Slender and straight you came to me. 

And straight the path you trod ; 

Your faithfulness was more than faith. 

Like the faithfulness of God. 

I cannot pay you all I owe. 

Though what I owe I pay: 

But the little wandering, laughing loves 
They dower beside the way. 

“ So take my life, who gave me all. 

Between your so small hands. 

With the blind, untaught, unfaltering touch 
A woman understands; 

And save me, since I would be saved. 

And do not let me stray 

With the little wandering, laughing loves 
That dower beside the wayf* 

That is the husband’s ^ Please,’ ” said Osborn, 
humbly. 

She stood up erect, and cried out: No one shall take 
what is mine ! ” 

The door opened, and the maid stood there, saying 
quietly : Dinner is served, ma’am.” 

They went in hand in hand, regardless of her. They 
sat down and looked at each other under pink candle- 


COMPREHENSION 


341 

shades. The golden-brown curtains were drawn evenly 
down the whole length of the much-windowed wall, and 
splashed rich colour against the prevailing cream. The 
wedding-present silver glittered upon the white cloth. 
What a dear room it was! How happily appointed and 
magically ordered ! 

He adored, across the space, the most darling woman 
that heaven ever spared to make joy for a mortal man. 
And she, returning his look with the same verdant won- 
der at the beauty of all things, saw before her husband 
and lover; he whom she had chosen to mate with; he who 
had taught her the beginning of joy; the finest man in 
the world. 


THE END 


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